


Original Sin

by exhumed_beloved



Series: Phantasm [1]
Category: Original Work, Phantasm (Movies)
Genre: 1860s, 19th Century, Age Difference, American Civil War, Amputation, Ashes, Autopsy, Backstory, Ballroom Dancing, Blood, Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Body Modification, Body Stealing, Burials, Burning Sensations, Casualties, Christine Ainsworth (as played by Isabelle Adjani), Civil War era, Confusion, Consumption, Death, Descent into Madness, Desire, Diseases, Doctors & Physicians, Dysentry, F/M, Funeral Terms, Graphic Description of Corpses, Gunshot Wounds, Hallucinations, Hearing Voices, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Hospitals, Hypnotism, Implied Sexual Content, Internal pain, Knives, Lung Transplant, Lust, Major character death - Freeform, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Morticians, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Nurses & Nursing, Obsession, Older Man/Younger Woman, Organ Theft, POV Canon Character, POV Original Female Character, PTSD, Rescue, Revitalized Tissue and Organs, Scalpals, Screaming, Seduction, Sentinel Orbs, Serious Injuries, Soul Bond, Soul Stealing, Stitches, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Taunting, Telekinesis, Telepathic Bond, Time Travel, Time machine, Typhoid Fever, Wedding Dresses, Work In Progress, bad memories, cremation, dark entities, embalming, exhumation, graveyards, morgues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-19 08:58:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17598230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exhumed_beloved/pseuds/exhumed_beloved
Summary: 1865- As the final year of the American Civil War rages on, the aftershocks come through with an undeniably bittersweet effect. From the bloodshed to the political dismay, both factions remain wounded. But as a young woman encounters the doctor-turned-mortician of Périgord, she becomes intrigued and entranced by his work.When Morningside opens his personal life up to her, she becomes entangled with a dark entity that seeks to consume both her soul and his. Through his inventions, she becomes a prime target, if not a servant by supernatural proxy, to ensnare the machine's creator, as he holds the futuristic and hellish power in becoming the Lord of the Dead.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically my take and my vision on the main antagonist's life before he became the Tall Man. It'll lead up to the events of him crossing through the portal, all the way up to when he first meets Mike. This primarily takes place in 1865, in the final year of the American Civil War. The story is told by a young woman who became a nurse to the wounded Union soldiers, and through that hell and even afterwards, she helps to nurse and assist Morningside. Please don't yell at me though for how this'll turn out. I'm going to try my damnedest to stay true to the style of the film's storytelling. 
> 
> I don't own any of the characters, save for my main original character (Christine) and a few others I've created. Everything belongs to Don Coscarelli and such. And as always, this is for our beloved Tall Man himself.
> 
> Angus — rest in peace, you sweet and haunting darling.
> 
> And please be aware that this fanfiction will be continuing. Thank you.

_The strange, tantalizing sound reverberated through my ears once more. It was clear and ringing, as if it were something out of a horrid dream. I closed my eyes and began to cultivate the senses of dying. There was the sharp burning in my throat, in my lungs. It had been there once before, but now, it seemed all that remained. With each breath I took, it seemed extinguished. There was no comfort for me._   
  
_I wondered if this was the very disease the soldiers fought. If not ambushed by the Confederates or answered with gun play, perhaps their inner wounds festered by the mere horror that was either the dysentery or diarrhea. What a horrible way to die, I thought. To be riddled with measles and infected by that which medicine could barely alleviate— I myself would rather be ended by a general's bullet than face another cruel moment by disease._   
  
_I had such a longing for a warm bath, but it hurt to move my legs. It would take me some time to make the water hot, and there was just barely enough strength in me. As I lay there in my bed, the feeling of the February wind came in through my room. The bay doors that sat firm ahead of my bed led to the sight of the back garden. So much had been changed since the war began, and ever since those men went off to fight, there was so much blood, so much death. The curtains swayed vividly. In the sense of how they flowed, they reminded me of ghosts._   
  
_I wondered if I was to be counted as a tally soon, not from warfare's touch, but from the illness that sat in my chest. I stood and carefully walked myself over to the brass bath, whereas I began to undress myself. The thin, sweat-soaked nightgown I wore fell off my lithe, white shoulders, and instantly, pooled around my ankles. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought myself to be ghastly. In the mirror, there was a girl of perhaps twenty-one years of age who looked nothing like she once was._   
  
_Her long, hip-length hair was clinging to her ribs, hanging off her shoulders and were shading her large, swollen breasts. Nipples of rose-pink were erect and soft in sight, though the pubis betwixt the area of the thighs were a soft, lush chocolate arrangement of curls. As I finished looking myself over, I felt how my ribs hurt. The very air I breathed in coiled and burrowed momentarily, then escaped. I managed then to sink myself into the tub and felt how indifferent the water was. It felt like nothing. No temperature, no texture— it felt like an abyss I was wet within._   
  
_I closed my eyes and lay myself against the back of the tub. The beating of my heart grew shallow. Since the war began four years ago, we were destitute to stay away from such violence. But blood is blood. Whether the blood be shed or willingly given, it was still such a sight to behold._   
  
_It reminded me of him. It reminded me of how it stained his clothing._


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This actual first chapter takes place in mid-December of 1864, and soon it'll transition into 1865. And remember, before he became the Tall Man, he was actually considered a kind and even-tempered man, so please don't be shocked when I write him as such. Once more, this story will lead up to the events of the first "Phantasm" film. 
> 
> Also, when writing around a historical time period, even with a fictitious story or plot, please remember to keep in mind that research and memory is key! Don't go blandly into the chapters and story without knowing some history! It helps, ya'll— believe me and trust me!
> 
> And yes, I understand there's a HUGE age difference, but you know what? I wrote them that way specifically! If this story gets good reception, I'll write a sequel; there'll be some key elements concerning Christine and Jebediah if there is a sequel story. Christine's face claim is Isabelle Adjani from her screen appearance as Lucy Harker in Nosferatu (1979).
> 
> Still, thank you all for reading this.

- _ **December 1864**_ -

There had been at time numerous counts of limbs being ushered out of the back door. There were wheelbarrows full of discarded, freshly and sometimes ruined amputated parts. So many men complained of pain, and in the cases of few, reported that they could still feel sharp stabbing in their legs, their arms and their feet. There was bone exposed and the smell of the cauterized flesh was almost unbearable. There were pans full of blood from prescribed bleeding, and it ranged from bright to dark. I did not normally shy away at the sight of blood, but seeing it now for the past three years, it was becoming all too familiar and yet, it was ghastly, it was awful. The blood itself was becoming more viscous and without end.

Still, it was nearing the third day of a shortage of supplies, and how the men all begged me to relieve them. As if I truly could— the stock of chloroform, ether and morphine were running desperately low. I hadn't the means alleviate them. It hurt me to see them all in such dismay.

Men from all corners of the county were traveling to other towns, searching for supplies and more medicine at the request of the doctors here. I alone had been working here at the hospital now for three weeks on end. I had ushered myself through the distinct cold and the snows. I had wrapped myself in my shawl and wore the simplest gown I had. Always at the end of the night, and even towards the dawn, my apron was riddled. It was smeared with phlegm, pus, and blood. Red merged with clearing-yellow and muddled white. Unfortunately, it made me ill to my stomach to even smell it, but for the sake of the men serving, I gave it my all to help heal them and aid them.

I was exhausted beyond all hours of the day. As the second nurse left for the day, I went over to her station. There in the cot was a wounded young soldier, perhaps my age, twenty-one or twenty-two, and he was bandaged over his right eye, his forehead, and his arm was in a sling. His leg was wrapped with new bandages and on his hip, there were stitches that needed cleaning. I put the rags down and marched over to his bedside immediately. The young man groaned in pain and tried to move. His bloodied black eye stared at me, and I felt unnerved.

I saw him try to sit up, but that was when I gently placed a hand upon his decent shoulder.

"No, it's alright," I said softly. "Please, you must lay still. The fever is still upon you."

"I need something for the pain," he cried, choking on his phlegm. "It hurts, it hurts so damn bad! Can't you give me something for the pain?"

I dabbed at his lips with a wet cloth. "We're trying with all we can to find more medicine. Please, you must be strong. I will stay at your side and tend to you, I promise. Hold on."

Then he started to thrash. His arm jerked and fell out of the sling, his tongue quivered against his mouth, and when he started to move his decent leg, he returned to the motions of tossing and turning. The bedpan fell to the floor and the liquids inside went everywhere. The stench, the blood— it was all overpowering. I dropped the rag and started to hold him down carefully, making sure to never hurt him.

"Help! I need some help over here!" I cried out.

The side table was full of sharp instruments and I feared the needles and scalpal would go flying at him; the candles were burning as well and I worried that if he did not stop violently thrashing, the candles would catch the bedding and his bandages aflame. I went to hold his good arm down, but that was when he struck me. The back of his hand hit my jaw and I collapsed to the floor. My bottom lip was broken open. I felt the air stinging my open lash, and as I sat up on the floor, my arms gave out and my strength felt waned. Dark circles shone in my eyes and I felt my vision blurring.

"Quick, quick! Someone come and get Christine! She's going to faint!" the other nurse said.

It was only a matter of time before the floor broke my fall. I fell with my back flat on the floor, and it felt as if my corset was too tight; the strings had been pulled together and knotted. My ribs hurt and slowly, I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness. Footsteps echoed in my ears and the darkness of black covered my eyes.

\--

When I awoke again, my mind was ringing and throbbing with pain. The corner of my lip was bleeding still. There was an awful pain inside and my heart felt faint. My body was full of cold, and I saw how I was covered by my own bed sheets. My body was wrapped in a robe and my feet were hidden. The pillows held my head and yet, I felt barely any relief. There were candles burning at the side of my bed. The flames flickered back and forth, catching shadows as the sun died down. I was about to close my eyes when then I heard knocking at my door.

"Christine?"

I turned my head weakly to face the door. "Yes?"

The doorknob turned and in entered my mother. She carried inside a tray of food and a glass of fresh tea. Instantly, I became nauseous from the scent. It seemed as though my stomach twisted and turned, somersaulted and lashed out. I hadn't any notion or idea as to why this had suddenly come over me. I had never been this ill before. Still as I breathed so softly, my mother came beside me and sat the tray down over my lap. She removed the tray's lid, and started to place the food on the fork and she started to motion it towards me.

"I'm not hungry, Mother," I rasped. "I just haven't the appetite."

"Christine, you need to eat. I know that working in the hospitals are a hardship, but the soldiers need you, my dear. They feel honored by you taking care of them. Please, Christine— you must eat something."

My voice strained. "Mother, I am too exhausted to eat and my jaw hurts from that soldier. I know he didn't mean to do it purposefully, but still, my jaw feels like it has been shattered. And if you can find someway to help me transition back to my old self, before the war happened I mean, I'd appreciate it."

She knew I was stubborn. She distinctively held that knowledge for all my twenty-one years. Sighing, my mother placed the tray onto the table beside me as she removed it from my lap. Her feet then took her over to the fireplace in my room, and there on the stone rim sat a flint and some iron. Her fingertips became dark with the stain of old charcoal. Repeatedly then, she stuck the objects together until sparks emitted onto the wood before her. She bent over cautiously and blew onto the small pyre.

"I will leave your tray here, Christine. When I come back in an hour, I expect that food to be gone and eaten. That tea needs to be consumed as well. You can't tend to the wounded if you do not take care of yourself. I shall be back," she said, rising in her stance. "Sleep as you can."

I was about to respond to her until I saw her cotton train follow her out the door. Her crinoline scraped against the floor and left a desolate sound. The mahogany was shut instantly behind her, and thus, I was left all alone. The bay windows ahead began to creak. A slight wind took to sweeping between the cracks and past the slit of the door, and the soft white curtains began to sway. It seemed ghostly in its presence. Like veils of bridal death, it seemed. I sat up and watched outside grow dark.

The clouds over the quaking aspens grew ever shadowy, perplexed with the silhouette of grey. The sound of thunder could be heard then, faintly. I hadn't expected a storm to come, but as I saw the leaves of the aspens shake and shimmer, rain began to fall and I knew then this was no ordinary storm.


	3. Chapter Two

The storm had come overhead and roared for the better part of three-and-a-half hours. Violently, the rain pattered against the roof of our home, and the thunder echoed loud and clear; the lightning flashed brightly a shade of unfiltered purple. It was beautiful and ethereal, terrifying and grotesque. I watched then how the curtains swayed still, and when I started to grow cold, I felt a presence come over me. Weight of undeniable feeling came over my body.

It started at first to weight down my hips. There was a sinking feeling, and it pressured my mound all the same. The heat of its presence came over my curls, right underneath the very nightgown I wore. My flesh became aroused. It was surreal, this feeling was. I felt my legs grow soft as my thighs were pried apart. I closed my eyes in an instant. I felt an energy reverberate through my folds, through my womb. An ache came over me and I hadn't felt the sensation at all before. It was illicit, I knew it.

My eyes trembled behind my eyelids and the ache in my bottom lip suddenly vanished. The flesh I had in between my legs softened, grew wet, and with every immediate rush of the deep pressure, my breasts became heavy, my nipples erect. The bed sank beneath my body and I felt like there was nothing there. I felt as though I was falling through a darkened void. It was there.

" _Girl_..."

The sound entered my ears so dark and rich, so distorted. It seemed a man's voice from what I heard, and it resonated off the walls of my room so vividly. It frightened me. It soothed me. Everything I was feeling now was making me overcome with emotion. Beneath my breast, my heart pounded wildly beneath my ribs. My bones were trembling and I felt my lithe body rise up and down with each tormenting ache.

But the voice wouldn't go away, and nor would the presence. The pressure kept sinking on my pelvis and I became buried in the softness of my bed. The sheets felt as though they were cocoons. Each tightened around my limbs beginning with my legs. I felt entombed, but then as I stretched my arms up over my head, my breasts became exposed. The air within my room brushed against my nipples and how I arched my back.

" _Christine_..." the voice said. " _Leave your bed and follow my voice_."

But I shook my head. I thrashed about and shied into my pillow. "No, please no."

Then a weight shifted over my breast. It felt as though it were an actual palm caressing my flesh there. It slid up over my sternum, over the hollow of my throat, and there it squeezed softly, then hard. I arched my back again and tried to breathe. My air was leaving me. I kept seeing blackness consume my sight. "Please," I choked. "Let me go!"

" _Never, Christine— I have been waiting for someone of your ability for a long time. You alone can sense my aura. His machine has not been perfected yet, so I only have you to come to. You cannot stray from me any longer. I have chosen you to hear me until the time is right. You are my connection to the world of the living, Christine. Never forget that_."

In order to finally have the presence let me go, I threw my head back and began to scream. My lips were pulled apart and from my throat, there emitted a scream of tearful horror, one that echoed off the walls. The louder I cried, the taste of blood lingered on my tongue. I was about to let loose another scream, when suddenly my mother opened the door.

"Christine? Christine!"

All I could feel then were her hands on my face, and all I felt come over me was a sheen of sweat and the cover of darkness.

\---

When I awoke the next morning, my windows were open.

The faint air was coming in and I was no longer covered. I felt my night gown pooled around my ankles. I felt around my body and discovered then I was nude. As I looked around, my hips were marked. There were dark bruises around my pelvic area. My ribs hurt and my lungs felt aflame. The burning was rooted deep in my veins. Still, my mind was racing with questions.

 _Why was I unclothed? Why was I lying here exposed?_ I managed to muster my strength and call out for my mother. I waited for a little while, but there was no reply. I heard no one in the hallway. No footsteps echoed. No one was in the house. I could feel it because the only thing I heard was my own breathing, my own heart beating. The wind was softly dying down and I felt nothing else.

I kept looking past the end of my bed, and at the foot, distinctively on the sheet's lace, there was a note. Immediately I grasped it and opened the paper.

" _Christine, I understand that you are suffering from nightmares. I, as a mother, am in a position of not knowing what to do. So, I have taken the liberty of consulting a doctor. Per say though, he's not truly a doctor anymore, but he at least has experience in night terrors. I believe you worked with him during the earlier years of the war. I will be back soon. Just soak in your bath and sleep. That's all I can recommend for you to do. Love, Mother_."

There was hardly any relief for me in her written words. I collapsed on my bed and shuddered. The feelings of numbing cold came over me. I wrapped myself up in the sheets and became to tear. The tears fell from the side of my face and I hurt all over. I studied the note over and over again.

A doctor, though? From during the war? So many memories of blood, intestines, discarded limbs and bowel movements entered my mind and rewound the time backwards. So many faces, so many people. But there was only someone as relevant that fit the description. An older man, a medic for the Union— he was the one with the soft white hair, the distinct, gentle and dark eyes, the lips in a lonesome frown. He seemed so lithe and tremulous. He seemed a giant with nothing dark in his past.

He was now vivid in my mind. And now, I knew who she was talking about. The name of Dr. Jebediah Morningside rang through my mind like a bell.


	4. Chapter Three

The next morning after my mother returned, there were voices whispering down in the parlor. The walls of our home weren't very thick, and from what I heard, there was a woman and a man speaking to each other. My curiosity was undeniably enriched by this suspicious conversation. With what strength I had left, I threw on my undergarments and wrapped myself in my house robe. I tied the front together so my breasts were hidden by the lace and my black hair, same for the front of my body. I wanted my bruises hidden from sight.

I could not let anyone see how ill I felt.

\---

Assuredly, I walked myself out of the door and shut it behind me. My knees were weakened, whether from stance, the hours of work, I truly did not know and it hurt me to walk the stairs. I gripped the railing and began my slow, long descent down the winding flight. There was a numbing feeling in my ankles, in my feet, and I steadied myself the best I possibly could. All the while, the voices in the parlor were growing louder.

"Mother?" I called out.

Her reply came immediately. "We're down here, Christine. We're moving to the den to have spirits. Are you decent?"

"Yes, Mother."

Finally, I reached the bottom of the stair and I began my small walk towards our master den. The sound of my robe slid behind me, and the air had returned once again; it blew in through the window and brushed against my skin. The air was a small relief, but barely. I turned the corner and entered the room to find my mother and a man there. A familiar man nonetheless.

He sat in my father's old chair. His back was up against the Baroque chair, and he seemed so lithe, so skeletal in the black suit he wore, that I trembled where I stood. His eyes looked into mine. The pale blues he had stared directly into mine. The silvery-white hair upon his head receding back and was softly curled upward at the bottom. His nose remained the same half-Romanesque form. There were creases on either side of his soft, elderly lips, and the flesh beneath his cheekbones was sunken in. He seemed so much older than the last time we saw each other. I shuddered and felt my heart race beneath my breast.

"Christine," he said, his voice dark, sultry. "I can't believe it. It is very good to see you again."

I couldn't speak. With my mother standing there, with him sitting there, there were so many things running through my mind. I wrapped my arms underneath each other and I stepped inside further, a little more weakly.

"Hello, Dr. Morningside," I replied. "I am sorry my mother made you come all this way. I can assure you I am fine. How have you been faring?"

His brows furrowed then. To a point, he seemed wounded by the statement. I shied my head to the side and tried to avoid eye contact. But then suddenly, my knees gave way. The strength in my legs went away, and I collapsed. My elbow caught my fall and the vase upon the side tabled fell with me. Shards found their way into my forearm and blood was exposed.

"Christine!"

Mother rushed to my side and Dr. Morningside ran to me as well. Both of them were at my side almost immediately. He took off his jacket and folded it together, then he slid it under my head. I saw faint blackness again and I heard his voice ringing and calling to my mother. She had become frantic, but she stood up quickly and waited for the doctor's instruction.

"Please retrieve my bag! There are bandages and stitching material in there. Christine, you must hold on. Your mother will be back soon. Please, you will be alright. Lie still..."

I did as he bid, and immediately, his fingers were on my forearm. The hot heat of my blood stained his fingertips. I looked up at him and saw his other hand caress my head.

" _Hold on, Christine_."

\---

When I awoke again, I was back in my bedroom.

With the presence of my mother, Dr. Morningside was there. I turned my head to the side and noticed how he began removing the shards. The pale-blue porcelain fell into a spare bowl and the water became dyed with red. My red. He cleansed his hands then in fresh warm water and he rubbed them before he began to prepare the suture.

"I am so sorry," I cried. "I don't know what came over me. It just... it just came over me."

"Christine, you have no need to be sorry. You're ill, child— illness comes without hesitation and without announcement. You must remember that. But tell me, dear one, do you remember how you contracted this disease?"

My eyes became bright with fresh tears. "Disease? What is it?"

He looked to my mother, then back to me. "It is consumption. In the early stages I'm afraid."

I wheezed then and felt my lungs burning. It had all made sense now, and as I cried, the tears fell and a coughing fit came over me. I turned my head away from the both of them and as I continued to gasp for air whilst choking, blood of fresh bright red came up out of my lips and stained my pillow.

_"Oh God."_

 


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is told through Morningside's point of view, especially as he discusses Christine's future as her doctor. I researched the tradition customs of unmarried women being viewed in public with men, whether they be older or alone with said maiden. An unmarried young woman was only allowed to be ushered in public by an older gentleman, who was married and of social standing; however, he's not married in this story. And therefore, I have them be secretive.
> 
> If you'd like me to leave any links to where I find my research, I'll be more than happy to leave them for you!

"My daughter is not going to be put in any sanatorium, Doctor. I would rather have her die in dignity," her mother said. "She does not need to be put in an awful place surrounded by strangers. _I could not do that to my child_."

I studied her brisk facial movements. Her brows furrowed together as she drank her tea, and there were tears prepared to fall from the corners of her fragile brown eyes. I had known her and her family for quite sometime, but never had I seen her in such distress. I understood her intentions completely, but as a doctor, I could not allow an innocent youth to die from an atrocious disease.

"Isabelle," I began. "I would not put your daughter in a mental asylum or a sanatorium by any means. I have the proper tools and anesthetics to help heal her. She won't die by this disease, one way or another. I promise you I will stop this disease from taking her to such an early grave."

From across the way, draped over the antique chaise lounge that sat close to the fireplace, young Christine was asleep. I had bandaged her arm after removing the shards, and I had given her a slight dose of morphine to ease her pain. She had been sleeping for half an hour now, and both her mother and I were grateful. Isabelle kept drinking at her tea until she redirected her eyes to meet mine. The look in her irises signaled distress.

"What do you mean? Dr. Morningside, you know as well as I do that the consumptive have a rare chance of healing. If it burrows any further in her lungs, she won't be able to breathe normally any more." Isabelle's voice crackled, and she continued still, her hands now shaking. "She's all I have left. Her father's been dead for ten years now, and I have no sons. I long to keep her from dying, but yet, she barely breathes. Her chest barely rises. My poor girl is a sweet-tempered dyspeptic and I have no choice but to try and ease her passing."

"I understand that completely, Isabelle," I added. "But I must ask you something."

She seemed perplexed then, and her head motioned back, to the side somewhat as she grew confused. "What is it?"

Lowering my voice a bit, and taking one drink of the whiskey she'd given me, I fathomed to usher a reply to her that could suggest something she'd dread. But, for the sake of the girl who had helped me during the war, it was my moral duty to return a favor.

"Isabelle, may I suggest that Christine come stay in the empty servants' wing at my mansion? There I have anesthetics to help ease her pain in my laboratory, and I am also currently working on a machine that can possibly save her life."

\---

Isabelle grew increasingly defensive. Her bosom began to rise and heave with panic, with sadness and anger combined. She shook her head and started to weep, but quietly for Christine's sake.

"She's not an experiment, Doctor! She's a living human being. My daughter is vastly ill, and even if you do put her in this machine of yours, which I do not even know if it is legal to public standards, how is it that she is to survive? Please, Jebediah— I have known you since I was in my twenties. You helped my father once, and then my husband. Can you promise that you'll save my Christine?"

I put my whiskey down and went to take one of her hands in mine. I brushed my thumb back and forth in a fatherly manner, and I reassured her with a slight tap.

My voice groveled from the taste of the whiskey. "I understand all of your concerns, I do. I will try with all that I am to prevent your daughter from going to the grave prematurely. May I have your written permission at least to bring her back to Morningside Mansion?"

Isabelle put her tea down and clasped my lithe hand in both of hers. "Do what you can for her. I will write the manuscript and put it in an envelope for your discretion. Shall I bring her to the mansion myself? Or how shall we arrange it?"

"With your permission once more, I would like to take her myself. I know a more distinct and secretive back route to the mansion that no one will acknowledge. I shall have my carriage come later tonight."

Isabelle nodded once. "As you wish, Doctor. I will prepare her things."

Before I left, I placed the whiskey glass on the side table. She began to escort me to the front door and as she passed me my coat, I looked at Christine who had barely stirred. Her bosom was rising softly. Something seemed odd then as I observed her. _There was crimson flowing_. There were dark spots of red upon the lace of her nightgown, and I pulled my brows together.

I could only hope that I would be able to catch her illness in time, for I could see the blood was becoming more viscous and passionate with fever.

\---

It was nearly eleven at night when I returned.

Isabelle and another were standing there with Christine in arm. Her luggage was carefully packaged and as I approached, I saw that there was a softly-crusted layer of blood upon the right corner of Christine's lips. The three of them descended the front stair of their home. I pulled the horse into the circular cul-de-sac. It stopped then and waited.

"Here are her chests. Please Aaron, put them in the back," Isabelle said.

The young man, who I assumed to be the son or an acquaintence of a family friend, began to pick up the chests each and put them on the back. He secured them with leather straps so they would not fall as we would journey back down the back roads. After he finished putting them on the back, he returned to Christine's side. She and Isabelle were at the final two steps but abruptly, she tripped over the front of her gown. It had been tailored too long and before she would hit the ground, I rushed forward and caught her frame with my own.

Her hands found my forearms and she nuzzled her face into my chest. "I am so sorry."

"Don't apologize, Christine. It's quite alright," I hushed her.

"Here is the manuscript, Doctor," her mother accounted, her arm and hand extended with the envelope. "Please, take care of her."

Christine's breath was warm on the folds of my throat. I could sense she was growing colder by the moment, so I took off my coat and placed it upon her shoulders. I took the envelope then and nodded. "I shall."  
  
Looking down at Christine, I slowly brought her up to the carriage. I opened the door and helped her inside. The train of her dress was almost caught, but quickly, she pulled it in behind her. She sat down weakly and started to fall asleep once more. I looked back at her mother, nodded once and mounted the front seat. My hands took the reins, and with whip, I began to take her back to the mansion where I had the machinery and spare room prepared for her.


	6. Chapter Five

When we pulled into the drive, the horse stopped at the front steps. I dismounted from the seat and began to walk to the back of the carriage. I surprisingly still had the strength left in me to carry her chests up and into the house, and so I willingly obliged and took them in for her. I paced back and forth, up and down the stairs as I transported the chests. Finally, I made my way to the side of the carriage. As I looked inside, I saw her lying on the velvet seating.

She was collapsed and sleeping perhaps. Her breasts rose up and down softly and her eyes remained closed. I quietly opened the carriage door and stepped up inside. I knelt beside her and saw how soft she was. The shadows of her cheeks were central in their grey appearance, and I knew then she was becoming more dyspeptic by the moment. I touched her face then with one hand and whispered to her.

"Christine, we're at the mansion. Can you sit up, dear one?"

Slowly, her eyes opened. She looked around and as if she were a small child again, she rubbed her eyes and shivered. The train of her gown hung over my arm then as I enfolded her into my arms, bridal-style to say the least. Her arms wrapped themselves around my neck and carefully, I left the carriage with her in arm and shut the door behind me. There were faint drops of rain falling now, and she shivered. Her skin became riddled with gooseflesh and I knew the cold would do her no good.

"I'll draw a bath for you. It should warm your muscles and help ease your stress."

Carefully, she kept her arms around me. I walked through the front door with her and carried her down the hallway to the right. I quickly opened the door and ushered her inside, whereas I placed her upon the bed I had prepared for her. Her frail blue eyes opened slightly then. She fell onto the white lace and crochet. Her brownish-black hair seemed so fragile then and I covered her with the master blanket.

"I'll return in an hour. The water will be warm by then at least and you'll have a chance to make yourself at home," I assured her.

She looked at me as she sat up then. The front of her nightdress was soaked in a sheen of sweat, and there were a few drops of blood stained into the white fabric. "Thank you, Dr. Morningside."

I clasped one of her hands in mine then. "Please, call me Jebediah. We have known each other for quite some time now, Christine. There's no shame in addressing each other as such with the names we have been given."

\---

I was working downstairs in my laboratory when I heard her moving upstairs. The floor creaked and I knew then where she was walking. The master bath was only two rooms down on the right, and I heard her footsteps linger once, then disappear. She must have managed to go into the tub without falling, for which I was rather thankful. As I turned the gears upon the bars, I managed to push the wheel only three inches. There was not enough oil to produce the mechanism's proper movement, and so, I would have to wait until the morrow to fetch some.

I lit another candle then and sat at my desk. There were lists of parts I would have to make, and along with it, some new anesethetic and medical supplies that would have to last me the next three months. The lists were completed and thus, I returned to perfecting my machine.

And if I was to hopefully cure Isabelle's daughter, it would have to be worth every expense. To see the blood upon her mouth reminded me of the men who suffered the same. But they had the dysentery. And the same consumption as she, but they also had the typhoid fever, the smallpox. So many countless diseases we tried to remedy but could not.

The bandages had been nothing but rags of infection. Blood, mucus, and other bodily fluids had ruined them within the next change. But I remember how she had serviced the men well. She had aided them and had not slept a night, though she was specifically ordered to go home. She would not. At most times, I feared she would have become infected, but she had been careful. Just, not careful enough this time. I kept thinking of her as I screwed the larger gear into place.

I was about to fetch another small gear for the mechanism when suddenly, I heard one of the largest sounds since returning back from the field hospital. I shuddered then in my old bones.

Immediately, I lowered the spare in my hand and rushed towards the door. I hadn't expected to catch a breath as I marched from downstairs towards the main stair. I grasped the railing lightly and ran as much as my strength could muster.

"Christine!"

I approached the door and knocked frantically.

"I... I am alright," she said, her voice softened by the door. "I just slipped is all."

The elaborate realization in me thrust the thought that she had seriously hurt herself. I allowed my tone to grow softer in its deep tone. I cupped the doorknob with my hand. "Are you decent?"

She did not wait in replying to me. "I am submerged in the water."

"May I enter?"

"Yes."

She sat in the brass tub with her head, throat and shoulders exposed. As she said, her chest was hidden. I tried to pertain a gentleman's discretion and courtesy, but at the same time, I wanted to examine her, to see if she had gained bruising. I walked inside and towards her. She stilled once, then softened.

"I do not mean to be a bother," she sighed. "I accidentally dropped the cloth out of the tub, and as I leaned over the side to reach it, my knee gave way and I caught the rim. That was the noise and I apologize for it."

I exhaled in utter relief. My eyes closed and I threw a hand to my heart. I reopened my eyes again and nodded solemnly. "That was my concern, and once more, you need not apologize to me. Are you in pain?"

"No," she affirmed. "However, might I ask a favor of you, though scandalous it may seem?"

My dark brow arched over my eye. "That is?"

She held the cloth out to me with its ringed form, and she shivered, turning her back to face me. I knew then what she wanted me to do.

"I cannot reach my back. Could you please do it? It hurts my muscles to move anything to a complete angle."

"Christine, that would be highly inappropriate of me."

With a look in her sad eyes, I glimpsed her profile as she turned her head to the side. She lowered her arm back towards her and allowed her head to fall. She seemed so pale, and I wondered then if she was anemic as well. A dangerous condition for a consumptive.

"Of course," I said. "If I may have your permission to do so."

"Always."

I silently walked towards the tub and took the cloth from her. Her fingers brushed mine and I saw how silk-smooth her flesh was. It was tremulous and veined in nature, and she seemed even older, yet younger than most ladies her age. I sat on the stool beside the tub and moved the hair from her back, to lie over on the other side of her shoulder and chest. Carefully, with my doctor's precision, I began to roam over her spine. In a sort of trance, she allowed her head to crane backward. Eyes closed, lips apart. Her breast heaved and I saw through the clear water the shape of her body. Her lips allowed a breath to fall from them, and at the same time, the slightest line of red flowed from the corner of her mouth.

\---

After I had finished helping her bathe, I left the master bath and allowed her to dress privately. She had put on a simple evening dress and came downstairs afterward. Her hair was still wet and damp, and through the candlelight, the cotton of the gown softened her dyspeptic appearance.

I had prepared her something for her to ingest and drink, to see if she could easily keep it down without becoming nauseated. I was waiting in the dining room though I had already dined in my laboratory. I hadn't wanted to disturb her or wake her in any way, so I had tried earlier to be as quiet as possible. Christine began to walk towards the other end of the table, when suddenly I stood and pulled the chair out for her. A faint smile appeared over her clean lips.

Her voice was faint, but sincere. Upon her sitting and me pushing her towards the table, she rasped, "Thank you."

"Of course."

I walked back to my side of the table and started to write once more. I noticed from afar her beginning to grasp the fork and knife. She sliced into the small piece of roast and cautiously, she began to eat. Finally, I was pleased to see she was taking in something. Her thin hand reached for the glass of wine, and she took a drink. A few minutes passed again before she spoke to me.

"What are you writing, Doctor?"

I looked up from the glasses I wore and gave her a gaze that signaled to call me by my first name. She allowed a slight laugh to leave her lips then. "Sorry. What are you writing down, Jebediah?"

"I am currently writing down a list of necessary equipment and medicine."

She had finished taking another bite, swallowing, and then I saw the light return to her pale blue eyes. "Equipment? For that machine you and my mother were discussing?"

I took a drink from my glass of whiskey and then sat it down again. "Yes."

"Forgive me for saying this, but... as a gesture of gratitude, may I at least go into town and fetch the medicine for you? It is the least I can do since you have been so generous to me."

I certainly became enamored by her words, but also worried. If she collapsed there in the market without me present, not many people had medical expertise in these times. However, I sat against the back of my chair and gave her a closed upturn of my lips.

"I might take you upon that offer, Christine. We'll leave tomorrow morning."


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those who have read this so far, and a special shout-out to fellow "Phantasm" fan, Kate, for giving me such kind words on the previous chapter! More shall come! Thank you, thank you!
> 
> PS: The chapters will be told from the points of view of both Jebediah and Christine. And depending on my current of inspiration, you may get longer chapters, too.

I was about to linger for a moment more in front of the mirror as I held my nightgown against my breasts. There were faint bruises on either side of my hips where I had fallen, with their tones of mahogany-blue becoming warm by the sunlight that was peaking dimly through the panes of glass. It was still an early morning yet, and as I washed myself, I felt the air come through as well. It brushed against my skin and allowed my nipples to become erect.

The wind brushed my pelvis, and traveled in through my thighs, to my cleft where the air made my slit react with such fervent ardor. The water that dripped from the cloth slid down my milk-white throat. I studied myself closely then as a personal examination.

I had lost my weight immensely. I seemed so frail. My rib cage was slightly showing, my cheekbones were more pronounced, and the curls of my pubis were a vast contrast to my flesh tone. The black hair upon my head sat softly upon my shoulders, and it lingered on either side of my breasts. I seemed more dead than alive. It was undeniable.

But the sound of the voice— it sounded so alive; it was loud and distorted still with a human's tone but rich, dark. It was there at my ear, and I felt warm breath there, as well as a pair of unseen hands cupping my breasts, touching me, raking me with its non-existent fingernails. I winced in pain and closed my eyes, fearfully. My womb somersaulted and my folds grew warm against my will.

" _Christine_ ," it said to me. " _I knew you could not resist helping him. You too must know what lies beyond the grave. You yourself are nearing it so, and with every mortal breath you take, the closer you become to me. Do not fail us. We are nearing the threshold indeed. Do not fail me_."

I broke free from its grasp and collapsed against the mirror. I grew frightened and began to tremble. My fingers brushed through my scalp as I held my own head, and I cowered up against the glass itself. My mouth let loose a horrifying scream and I cried and cried. Tears fell and suddenly, I heard Jebediah coming towards my door again.

His fist thrust itself against the door with a loud pounding. "Christine! Please, are you alright?"

I chose to rush the door immediately as I put on my robes. I tied the front and opened the door. There he stood with his brows furrowed upward, his chest heaving. My first instinct was to embrace him. I wrapped my arms around his back and buried my face into his chest.

"It was awful," I wept. "I cannot get away from it... this voice follows me everywhere; it stays with me and comes close. My God, I am going mad."

An overwhelming array of emotions came over me and I hated how I acted. I placed my small figure against his towering stature, and gently, he wrapped his arms around my own back and we held each other. His large hand cupped the back of my head and somehow then, my fear went away.

"You are not mad, Christine. I promise you're not. Let us go into town now. The shops have opened and we can best the others if we leave now. _Come, sweet one_ — I'll watch over you even if I lose both my eyes. Let's get you dressed."

I looked up at him and felt affirmed by his words, by his actions. He accompanied me into the bedroom and we managed to dress me carefully. He laced my corset together and allowed me to put the rest of my dress on efficiently, then he escorted me downstairs to the front porch. It was a vast contrast in our height, and he carried me down the stairs though I said I could walk myself. One arm latched around my waist, and he lifted me as if I were weightless. As before, I wrapped my arms around his neck. I rested my head on his shoulder and he placed me inside the carriage.

My eyes held the look of longing as I let go of him, and he did something peculiar then. He reached for my hand and heightened it to his lips. The creases of his aged lips comforted me. I watched him then let go of me and leave the cabin. The door was shut and as I lay back against the fine interior, I heard him mount the seating and before I could sigh, the horse was taking us down the drive once more.

\---

When we arrived in the district, Jebediah and I parted ways. For an unmarried young woman such as myself to be seen with a much older, unmarried man, it was quite immoral for our society's standards. It would cause a considerable scandal nonetheless, whether my mother had given him permission for me to be in his private care or not. He had given me the list and I had felt the proper urge to bring my small coin purse. The apothecary was around the corner and I was not far from it. The streets were crowded, as there was a small market going on.

Men and women from all flocks of social standing had come, and I felt like I was caught in a tide. Countless eyes stared at me. From the elderly women my parents had entertained, all the way to the young help, I felt as though I was unguarded from anyone and especially anything. I opened the door and walked into the shop after turning the corner. The air inside was damp, and I knew it from the moment, for my lungs seized painfully with the awful sensation of burning. To prepare myself for a coughing fit in case it came, I retrieved my handkerchief from my pocket.

"Hello there, young miss," the owner said. "Are you looking for something in particular?"

I coughed into my handkerchief and with a careful extension of my arm, poised it outward and gave him the list. "Yes, sir. Do you have a few crates filled with bottles of ether and chloroform by chance?"

He stirred his brow upward in a generally shocked arch. "Forgive me for being damnably curious, but what does a _woman_ need with formaldehyde and general tools for a _mortician_?"

My lips parted in a slight gasp. I had looked over the list before and I had been sure that I had seen those few ingredients, among a few simple groceries. I studied his handwriting and undoubtedly, either I had read it wrong, or I had taken the wrong list. The owner handed it back to me and before I could say anything, a hand caught the top of my shoulder. I shrieked slightly and turned to face whoever it was. Behind me was the brown-haired, blue-eyed young man that had helped me down the stairs at my own home.

"Aaron! What are you doing here?" I inquired.

"Trying to discover if you were still alive or not," he replied. "That is why I've come to find you."

I took the list back from the man to my right and I could tell he wanted this transacation done and over with. He marched behind the counter and into his back room. I could not tell if Aaron knew just how strong his grip was, for my shoulder was hurting as badly as my lungs. I could hear the man in the back shuffling through his cargo, and how I wished for him to hurry. I did not like how demanding, how physical this other was.

I shied with pain. "Aaron, you're hurting my shoulder. Please, let it go."

He obliged and released it. An excruciating weight went away and I sighed with relief. Aaron stepped away and I kept my head lowered lightly, as my nervousness must have surfaced.

"Christine, may I ask you something?"

The warmth of my blood seemed like it was being drained. It was hard to speak, especially as my throat tensed. My eyes watered slight from the pain. "If you'd like."

"Why did your mother consent to let you live with him?"

I shook my head in confusion. "I thought you knew why. Didn't my mother tell you?"

"No, and I was not about to intrude. I was figuring that if you were still alive, I would personally ask you myself. Why in God's name are you staying with Jebediah Morningside?"

He was cautious to keep his voice lowered. We observed our surroundings and as we watched for people who could possibly eavesdrop, I stepped towards the counter as I heard the owner coming back. I removed the money from my coin purse and approached to inquire the balance.

"What is the balance, sir?"

"Fifty dollars."

I invested the time to count the bills and immediately, I passed the money to him. He accepted it and smiled, and whether the grimace behind it seemed true or not, I wanted to leave the shop badly.

"I'll help take the crates outside for you," the owner offered.

"I thank you for that, but perhaps this young man here will be more inclined to follow a woman instead of the other way around," I said, my voice growing bolder. I could tell Aaron had grown offended, but we women were human beings too. And by God, I was not going to play servant any longer.

\---

Aaron had trailed out the door behind me, and all the while he brought the crates of the ether and formaldehyde, I kept the door wide open for him to enter and exit. There was thankfully a wagon he had brought into town, and he loaded the boxes of wood onto its back.

"Thank you, Aaron."

"Shall I take you back to the land of the dead?"

I was growing increasingly bored of his antics. As if he could try to frighten me of a single man. I had seen much blood and I hadn't the idea of whether he had served in the war lately or not. And in fact, I cared not. I was me and I was not going to change my ideals or my mind. I was helped aboard the front of the wagon, and as Aaron mounted the front, he took the reins of his horses in hand and clicked his tongue. We were making our way assuredly then down the normal winding roads towards Morningside Mansion with hundreds of eyes staring blankly.

"Please," I added then. "Not a word of this to my mother."


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little girl statue Christine describes is an actual statue in Elmwood Cemetery, which is located in St. Louis, Missouri. I remember reading about it a long while ago, and here be the link if you wish to read more about ["Violin Annie."](http://www.stevehuffphoto.com/2010/02/02/a-haunting-story-the-legend-of-violin-annie/)
> 
> And also, I'll be doing some sketches of Jebediah and Christine together too, perhaps outside of Morningside! So excited! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ・: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ) Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments so far! More is appreciated! Thank you, thank you!

"What I want to know is why you agreed to live with an old, unmarried man in the first place. Surely you can see the scandal in that, Christine. And besides, we live in a society where virginity is key. If anyone saw you with him, they'd think you were no longer a girl fit for perfect feminism."

My eyes grew weary and tired altogether. As we took the general road that led past the cemetery, I became entranced. My eyes watched the tombstones and I counted them silently in my head. If it could help me to grow distant from Aaron's incoherent slander, I cherished it. There were cracks and broken edges, and the angel statues had faces eroded from lost time.

I wondered what it was like to be dead. I could feel myself growing more close to them with each passing day. My throat hurt, my lungs burned— those were often symptoms as stated by the soldiers that were fighting. I felt my corset digging into my rib cage, and with the slight crevices and deep ruts in the road, it hurt worse the moment the wagon went over them.

"Christine, have you been listening to me?"

" _I can't breathe_..."

\---

I hunched to the side and grasped the wood of the wagon for support. I clutched my hand to my breast and shivered. There were undeniable feats of cold surging through my body, and with every second of us venturing through, I felt so alone. I could not help still by watching those who lay six feet under.

There were urns sitting upon tall platforms of stone, numerous angel statues watching through unseen eyes, and especially now as we grew closer to the other main road, I eyed a statue towards the back of the cemetery. It was the statue of a little girl holding a violin. Her fingertips were either broken off or almost gone, and her braids seemed ethereal in their gray making.

My vision kept cloaking in grey, in a muddled mask of complete blurs. I felt my strength waning, and Aaron kept the wagon moving; the motion of the wheels going over these holes made me feel so violently ill and weak. I looked around at Aaron then, and slowly, I began to fall. My crinoline was not stopped by the narrow opening and the small steps that led upward.

In a hard fall to the ground, I was rendered immobile. My elbow had caught my fall and now, through the build of the crinoline, my hips were aching badly. There were not enough words to describe how much I hurt.

"Christine!"

He made the wagon stop and he jumped from the side. The horse neighed and trotted in its place, and as Aaron ran towards me, lifting me into his arms, all I could think of was him. I should have waited in town, I should have waited outside the apothecary. There was no medical expertise in Aaron, and he hadn't even an idea as to what was happening with me. I should have stayed and waited. To hell with the moral needs of society— I wanted to be with _him_ far away from this disgruntled world.

\---

By the time we returned to the mansion, I heard them arguing.

"You have no right to harbor her here! It's not natural! And I suppose you're teaching her the ways of preparing your dead downstairs in your basement too," Aaron seethed.

The voices grew louder as I heard them coming towards the wagon. The footsteps consisted with the precise rhythm at which my heart beat in fear. I waited and waited, all the while I heard Jebediah speaking back to Aaron with the same annoyed tone I had had earlier.

"Nonsense! Where you simple little boys get your vain ideas is beyond me. And as her doctor, I am not at liberty to disclose her conditions except to her family. You have no business being here at Morningside. Now, either you leave or I will have you permanently removed from my property by the police. It's your choice, boy."

I opened my eyes and looked weakly towards him. His dark brows were pulled together in worry, and as he approached, his long, lithe arms wrapped themselves around me. "Oh, Christine— _my poor girl_."

Aaron's tone grew dark and defensive now. " _What did you call her?_ "

I was about to object, but the blood welling in my lungs grew more viscous. I began to cough violently then and as I turned my head to the side, I gripped my chest and clawed at my corset. I know Jebediah hadn't tightened it to the point of poor circulation, but somehow, it felt as though it was closing in around my ribs. I rasped for air, and I immediately threw my arms around his neck; he held me carefully and closely. He began to take me into the house as quickly as he could.

I could feel the blood coming endlessly. The clots were coming as well. I had felt them sit on the back of my tongue, thick, heavy; my tears were coming and I felt embarrassed to be coughing like this in front of them. The red stained my lips and I felt short of breath. I looked back at Aaron and pulled my brows together, just showing him how much I wanted him to leave. But he would not— at least, not so easily.

"Christine?"

"Just go away, Aaron," I said, my voice weakened. "I'd much prefer to be alone with my doctor at the moment. You are taking my air away."

Thankfully, the crates of ether and formaldehyde, along with the other supplies, had been put upon the porch the moment I had been unconscious, and without warning, Aaron got aboard his wagon and began to run his horse down the pathway. My doctor and I entered the house and he held me against his chest, setting me down as he shut and locked the door. I began to feel weaker than before, and as I looked up at Jebediah, he swept my blood away with a cloth.

\---

I was changed out of my dress and into something that did not have quite an excruciating corset. I was not as pained by its pressure, but the way he pushed the needle into my vein, it felt more of a relief as the morphine became more warmly to me. I was not growing an addiction, at least not yet, but I was thankful that he was here.

He sat on the edge of the bed and swept a cloth against my forehead; there were small drops falling down my temple, but he swept it away. He looked past the rim of his circular glasses, and watched as the morphine descend into my vein. He removed the needle then and dabbed the small amount of blood away.

"I don't think... I don't think it would be good if I breathed in your direction," I cried. My voice was barely above a whisper, and it was not loud enough but for the area between us. He grew confused and looked at me.

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't want to get you sick, Jebediah. Your immune system is considerably older than mine and you are more prone to illness. I couldn't forgive myself if I got you sick. Please..."

One of his hands gripped mine. He rose my hand to his lips, and kissed the top of my knuckles. "I'm not leaving you, Christine. You are in my charge and I'll do whatever I have to to keep you alive, safe. I swear it. No matter what, _I will not let you die_."


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There are themes of bodily mutilation by unseen forces and a suicidal scene. Please read at your own risk, and as always, thank you for reading this and leaving kudos. More will be coming! This is not the end of the fanfic!

I saw them there then, and they were all around me, lying in a ritualistic circle almost. The men and women were all side by side, and were shaped in the form of a clock face. Their clothes were torn, their bodices and sides bloodied.

I knew these weren't just composed of soldiers, but of people I had known from before and now— my mother, Aaron, the two grandmothers from both sides of my family, a long-dead childhood friend. It was so horrifying, so cold. There were numerous patches of an unnatural fog across their bodies, hiding them like the sheets we covered the soldiers with.

The faces were sunken in, and their cheekbones were exposed. There were maggots around the eye sockets, and lips were broken open, with strange insects crawling out of the flesh. In the candlelight where I stood, there was so much blood. The scent of rotted flesh was amongst me as well, and I heaved, I gasped for air but was suffocated by the decay of their bodies. There were small pools of bodily fluid sitting beneath them as well, and I knew then that the corpses had been dead for some time. But this was a dream, was it not? It had to of been.

I walked around the ballroom still and watched as dark shapes took form on the walls. The shapes began to claw then at the panes of glass. There was a balcony leading to the outside, and below it, a sharpened black fence of iron. From memory, the pikes were pointed to the term of viciousness. I shuddered as I approached the rim of the balcony. Looking down, I began to breathe heavily, deeply, and it came to the point where I could feel those dark shadows coming upon me. Behind me, I felt the eyes staring. The pupils and irises were upon my nape, so cold.

" _Christine_..."

That voice. It was there again, over and over, whispering dark things into my right ear; the voice itself seemed to have a warm breath of its own, a pair of lips. My neck was exposed and my head was craned to the side. Through the distinct feeling of loneliness and turmoil, I felt hands.

The palms, through the bodice of the gown I wore, cupped my full, aching breasts and pinched my nipples with invisible fingers. Wetness ensued at the hollow of my jugular, and it felt like a hot, warm tongue. The softest and most disgusted of sighs trembled from betwixt my quivering lips.

I felt every limb in my body grow soft. There seemed to be no more feeling in my bones, in my veins anymore. The hands though— they felt so real, so warm and large as they cupped me.

" _Christine, you've done well. Only two nights more, and you will finally see what has come to fruition. A few more engagements and more tidings of machinery, then everything will be complete. You'll see me very soon, beloved. Keep helping Morningside. He'll aid you as you aid him. You have done so well, girl, and always, remember you are mine_."

In the transition of a few moments, the hands turned cold. There was no longer the feeling of warm palms, but instead, there were digits of ice, of decadence and death upon me. It did not take long for me to realize that it was no longer the voice's unseen form touching me, but the hands and arms, the lips and teeth of the very dead coming upon my body. My gown was torn and my flesh was ripped violently.

Once more, I screamed until blood flashed red upon my lips.

\---

After I awoke again, the profuse sight of sweat was upon me. I was dreading these night terrors, and after all, these were only a series I'd have every night. I ran to the tub and felt the water that was inside. It was still decent, still warm somehow, and I was more than content to submerge into it again. My fingers unlaced the front of my nightdress and I allowed it to pool around my ankles. Immediately I entered the tub. My body was no longer hurting and I had the bar of soap in my hand.

As I wrapped the cloth around it, I got it wet and carefully washed my bruises. The pain seared but I cared not. I was starting to wash all around my body and as I cleaned my folds, I winced in pain again, jerking against the rim of the tub. There were dark shades there and as I looked down between my legs, there were bruises. But what frightened me most were the bite marks. Deep, red, and fresh they were. My eyes filled with tears and I started to cough again out of hysteria. Whatever blood fell from my lips rippled in the water.

"Oh, God!"

I couldn't wait any longer. I couldn't deal with this anymore, and though it pained me, I could not deal with being this thing's gateway to the living. I escaped the tub and ran immediately to my room as I put on my robes. My breasts swayed along with the sound of my heartbeat. **_Thump, thump, thump_**. The taste of iron remained in my mouth and I was determined to get rid of it.

The voice was there following me now. Its roar echoed behind me and chased me, especially as I ran as fast as I could. " _Christine!_ "

I threw the door open and slammed it shut behind me. I slumped against the bed and began to cry then as I shook. "I'm not playing your patsy any longer! Find another vessel and leave me be, goddamn you!"

Before I knew it, the invisible hand seized my throat and threw me, violently across the way and out of the door. The wood fell to the floor as I did, with shards of splinters stuck in my arm. It reminded me of how I fell upon the vase at home, but this, this hurt much worse. My hair was in disarray, and it clung to my lip as I panted. I stood up and raced into Jebediah's room. I knew he was not in there, for he was downstairs working.

And how I wished to not disturb him, not for anything and everything. I simply wanted this done.

\---

My hands wasted no time as I rummaged through his grooming utensils. There were a pair of scissors, a handheld mirror, a mortar and pestle, and of course, there was a straight-razor. I felt the ivory handle fall into my palm, and as I knelt against his bed, as if I were in prayer, I unsheathed it and opened it fully.

The silver gleamed in the light of the candle, and I saw my own reflection upon its blade. My eyes seemed faded over already and I knew it to be true. God, was this how it was meant to be? Me to be tormented daily before, after and during my every waking hour? I could not take this pain anymore. I kept crying, kept wheezing. There was barely any breath left in me at all.

"Jebediah, I'm so sorry..."

I didn't feel the sting of the razor until after the first two minutes. I collapsed onto the floor and immediately, felt as my blood was running out from my throat. I cut from above my collarbone from the left to right of my neck. It did not reach my voice box, but it cut my tendons to the point where I felt the sting reverberate completely. Blood kept coming and at last, I felt a serene kind of peace that I had not felt in so long. I hated leaving him behind like this, but I felt in my bones, in the rib cage that pained profusely, that he would forgive me.

I knew, in my dying moment, I would see him again no matter what.


	10. Chapter Nine

The gear ratio had been completed at last.

I had screwed the largest wheel onto the machinery, and then as I pressed one of the main buttons, I threw the switch. Sparks of acute electricity came flying from the ends of the currents. It was finally unfolding. The wiring had finally gained the power that it needed, and as I turned the wheel to the right, the machine had a whirring sound. It had been a long time coming, and at last, the creation of my machine was about near to an end.

The clock struck two-fifteen in the morning, and I remembered then that I hadn't seen Christine for nearly two hours. As before, I had left her some sustenance and left her to rest. She was perhaps sleeping now, but as a courteous chaperone, I would make sure her well-being was alright. It was my duty as her doctor to make certain that her condition had not worsened.

\---

After I locked the basement door, I put the key in my pocket and began to travel upstairs. There was barely any sound coming from the house itself, and that made me damnably curious, if not concerned. I gripped the railing and ascended up the flight. The moment my feet reached the top step, I noticed the door to Christine's room was splintered among the floor. Something had to of been stronger than her, for I knew in her frail and small state, she could not have broken it.

"Christine?"

I ran into her room and saw it in complete chaos. The panes of glass to her window had been marked, scratched; the curtains were in a ripped form. I looked around her room and saw that she was not even there in her bed. I ran to her wardrobe, thrust the door open to see if she had hidden from the man or thing that had attacked her. This certainly was not like her to keep something so drastic from me.

I saw small drops of blood upon the wooden floor then, leading out of her room and down the hallway. To my horror, the blood led to my own bedroom. The door was barely thrust open, but I saw the candles burning upon my nightstand. I had the most terrible feeling sitting in my stomach. I rushed the door with my eyes widened in fear.

"Christine? Dear God, no. Speak to me!"

The minute I threw that door open, I regretted it immediately.

She was lying there in a pool of her own blood. Her bodice was no longer heaving, but still and quiet, like a lily drifting among water. Her dark hair was sprawled over her face and I could no longer see the blue of her eyes. I saw my straight-razor lying there and I knew then what she had done. I fell to my knees and felt them crack, though I cared not about that physical pain.

The only pain I cared about was hers and mine.

I crawled over to her on my hands and knees. As if she were the most fragile piece of porcelain, I curled her to my breast and carefully picked her up. My arms both went behind her back and under her legs. The rigor mortis had not set in yet, and she felt so soft, so lush. As her head fell back against my arm, the gaping wound of where she had cut poised itself open.

I saw her tendons, her veins. The milk-white color of her skin seemed so contrasted to the flesh she had within her. I knew then that I had failed her. I swore to her mother I'd not let her die, and I had told Christine I'd never let her die. And to that, I would hold true to my word, especially now as I began to carry her down to the laboratory.

\---

I placed her upon the long wooden table and undressed her. I had prepared the bowl of alcohol and rinsed with clear water the utensils I would have to use. I cleaned her body and began to prepare the suture. The thread was tied onto the end, and I felt for the very first time as my fingers and hands trembled.

I hadn't the heart to do this to her.

I had sworn to her mother, to myself, and to her that I would keep her alive no matter what. I would not— _no, I could not_ — let her die. My mind was racing with the news of the young men that kept dying, of the women whose clothes were kept bloody by the tormented poor souls who were rushed to hospital. From what I heard, the men were still piling in their counts.

As I thought of them, I kept looking at her. Her emaciated form seemed so soft, so child-like and I felt cold and saddened by her absence already. But there would be time to grieve later. For now, I knew what had to be done. I would have to find another young woman, and unfortunately, and perhaps immorally, harvest her lungs if they were untainted and give them to my Christine. She had suffered so much in her young lifetime, and I would see her restored, alive and healthy. If possible, I would try in all my human power to bring her back. No stage of death would suffice and nor did I intend to allow her to go into the unknown alone. That was a cruel fate unworthy of someone like her.

Immediately, I put the suture down and covered her body with a thin white sheet. I went towards the door, up the stairs and out the front. I ran to the small thicket where I knew someone had a horse nearby; I carefully made my way over the wooden fence and towards the animal. I knew the owner was asleep for no candles were burning in the windowsill.

As I took the reins, I ushered the horse to make for the cemetery. It barely made a noise except to breathe, and for that, I was thankful. I'd deal with its owner later, but for now, my Christine needed to be returned to the land of the living, where she belonged with her family. And if God willing, with me.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, here be the chapter where I introduce the themes of grave-robbing, corpse-stealing and organ exchange. Please note that Jebediah is not doing this because he is sick in the mind, but because, according to his character's canon, he is determined to seek out the answers to what happens to the dead when they've reached the other side. Yes, I've kinda borrowed elements of "Frankenstein," but this is in my own way. 
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading this and leaving kudos! Please leave me more and I'd love to hear your comments! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

The early hours were still among the dark, and as I walked the horse to a nearby gate, I tied it up and used the faint moonlight to look through freshly-dug graves. I knew what I was about to do was immoral, was wrong to those deceased, but I had to do something.

This obsession with yearning to know what was on the other side, it was consuming me alive. And now that Christine was temporarily gone, I knew that I had to act and at least attempt something. It would be cruel of me to deny a mother the child I had promised to keep alive.

I made my way through the secluded paths of tombs and grave markers, and my feet were cautious as to where they stepped. There were numerous twigs, sticks, pieces of broken concrete and stone everywhere. It was rather black in the area where I walked. There were thickets of trees hiding the cemetery from plain view almost, save for the glimmer of a nearby stream; its ripples were pale blue and the soft rushing of its water gave life to the small creatures that lived upon it.

I had managed then to come upon a fresh grave. I had been paying attention to those whose bodily counts were expiring, and as I remembered, one of the young women in town had committed suicide, tragically after learning her brother had died two weeks ago from the dysentery. As ashamed as I was, something in me was compelled. I had taken the liberty of bringing a shovel with me, and as I approached the soil, I began to dig the shovel's head into the brown earth.

The wind began to pick up slowly, then steadily. I inhaled in the midst of the dead and wondered if now, somehow from somewhere, if Christine herself were watching me.

Almost an hour later, I managed to unearth the pine box.

I quickly eased the coffin lid open and found the girl lying inside. Her body was dressed in a plain lavender ball gown; the strings in her blonde hair were the same hue, and it seemed a great contrast to the dark bruising around her throat. From the look of it, her parents had not arranged a Christian funeral. Still, I lifted her out and with heavy breath, carried her back to the horse. The animal was still standing where I'd left it tied, and as I mounted it with the corpse in hand, its restless nature came almost to full attention.

I could tell it was not calm in its nerves. It trotted in place back and forth, to and fro, and its nervousness began to imprint itself onto me. I had untied the massive beast and then with utmost discretion, pointed it to the secluded road behind us. It did not take long for the horse to start making its way down the dirt. Specks of dust and debris kicked up behind its hooves. The moon was starting to come down behind the peak of the trees, and I knew I had to hurry along.

\---

The course of the journey had finished. I had dismounted the horse in the same thicket in which I had retrieved it, and in the quickening heat of the rising sun, I began to run up the drive. The girl in my arms had stiffened slightly since we had returned. Her legs were straightened and her torso was unyielding. I opened the door and brought her inside as fast as I could. I shut the door behind me and locked it quickly with the skeleton key from my pocket; I heard the mechanism click, and I knew then that it was closed efficiently.

I took the corpse downstairs then and placed it on a table beside Christine's covered body. I wasted no more time. In the immediate rush of adrenaline, I cleaned my hands and began to prepare the suture once more. I uncovered Christine then and went to undress the other girl.

It grieved me then to cut a Y-shape into Christine's chest cavity. The scalpel trembled very, very lightly, but as I remembered why I was doing this, my nerves steadied. The silver slit into the flesh and I watched the blood well to the surface. I plied her skin open and clamped it, to keep her xiphoid and sternum open. I walked over to the other girl and applied the same technique. The scalpel cut more freely into her, which astounded me. She had been dead longer than Christine, and yet, she still seemed so fresh, so vivid in her dead state.

For a long while, I cut through the layers of tissue and flesh. I finally reached the blonde girl's lungs and carefully I examined them. Their color was fresh, healthy— the small veins were their usual color and the pink of the tissue was still vibrant. I cut as well as I could and removed her lungs. I put them on a silver tray and placed them to sit beside Christine's head. I removed her lungs as well and carried them over to my small hearth. I opened the lid and discarded them.

I was used to the scent of burning flesh, organs and appendages, and for now, I was glad that she was to be rid of them. The blood boiled and caked the wood inside, whereas the smell arose from the column of the chimney, burning black.

For the next three hours, I transplanted and exchanged the blonde girl's lungs to Christine's chest, and I sewed them into her carefully, each stitch accordingly placed, each given the right amount of line. I wanted it to be absolutely precise and as I waited for the generator, the meters and the batteries to charge. The minutes passed so slowly until finally, the electromagnetic fields were ready. The moment of truth had come. Now was the time to see if I could revive her.

\---

Her throat was sewn shut, concealed and cleaned. Her chest was still slightly open with enough spacing for me to get to her heart with the wires. They were fully charged, and I knew then that I would have to shock her heart in order to get her valves pumping, her blood flowing. I had dried my hands to make sure no water was present. I looked down at her as I brought the machinery closer to her body. I had managed to her petticoat and undergarments on her body, save for the corset and the gown I had out for her.

Christine's eyes were closed but in the same moment, they seemed so alive behind those silk-smooth eyelids. I managed to let the wires to spark then, and as I felt the energy reverberate through their ends, I carefully allowed them to touch her heart only momentarily. I shocked her three times, and before I could manage a fourth time, her fingertips, legs, and arms jerked. Her eyes thrust open and there were clear tears falling from either corner of her eyes. Christine coughed with very little blood coming to her lips. She lunged upward and stood up from the slab.

She looked around, confused, frightened and positively mortified. Her small stature seemed so vulnerable. Realizing she was half-nude from the torso up, she looked at me with hardly a blink. The candlelight prevented her from seeing the incisions, for which I was thankful.

The tone of her voice sounded softer, more child-like. "Wh-what did you do? How am I... here?"

I put the wires down and embraced her with my coat. It wrapped around her body like a cocoon and she huddled into my chest. Her slender arms encased my own torso and I held her then. We both began to feel so much emotion overcome us, that tears fell. I kissed her forehead and held the back of her head with my large hand.

"I couldn't let you go, Christine," I rasped. "God, I couldn't do it."


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Percy Bysshe Shelley obviously owns the quote mentioned here—"Death is the veil which those who live call life; They sleep, and it is lifted."
> 
> I was originally going to use the lines from "Adonais," but the HBO show, "Penny Dreadful" already beat me to it. (And if you haven't seen it— WATCH IT! It's got all the literary characters from Dracula to Victor Frankenstein in it, and Eva Green plays a wickedly-tormented Vanessa Ives, who's the Mother of Evil pretty much.
> 
> And if you're wondering about the dress Christine is wearing, [here](https://www.aliexpress.com/item/Victorian-crinoline-dress-Civil-war-Sequin-and-Diamante-Studded-Ball-Gown-Long-Party-Dresses/32628883860.html) is the link to it! Yes, I know it looks a little too futuristic in its design, but hey, we're all here for the unknown!
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you're all enjoying this so far! It'll probably come to a close soon, but if you'd like, I'll write a sequel, this time with Mike, Jody and Reggie as well. I can't even begin to tell you all how much I appreciate your comments and kudos. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
> 
> ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ・: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)

She was dressed then in a crinoline gown of pearl-white. It was silvery silk, embedded with small diamanté and white lace around the sleeves; the small shine of ever-clear, tiny diamonds lingered around the swirl-decorated, floor-length skirt in the candlelight. Her sleeves were slender, short and were hidden by the lace and jeweled décolleté. Her hair was in waves now, and she seemed rejuvenated, as if she were still alive and hadn't perished.

She stood in front of the seven-foot tall mirror and looked at herself in its glass face. Her frail fingertips slid across her clavicle, then her throat, and all the way down to her sternum. She pushed her fingers down beneath the fabric of the bodice, and she cupped her breast, tweezing the flesh there as she softly began to breathe. I watched her in both confusion and silence. Removing her hand from her chest, she held her arms out backward behind her, and I knew then she wished for me to take them.

Her mouth was parted half-way, and in a dream, in dimension of her own, she seemed lost. I approached her and took her hands, whereas she wrapped the long, slender arms I had around her torso. To my dismay, she slid one of my hands down the front of her bodice; I tried to pull away but she would not let me leave her. My palm caressed her breast and I lowered my face then down onto her scalp, kissing it, inhaling her scent as she rose my other hand to her lips.

"Jebediah," she began, "I feel strange. These lungs— where did you get them from?"

I tensed inwardly. My muscles froze and I tried to steady a reasonable explanation within my head. She looked up at me with the distinction of knowing I had done something wrong.

" _My God_ ," she rasped, her vocal strength lapsed. "You didn't... _steal_ these lungs and put them inside me, did you?"

I stared up at her and swallowed the pain in my throat. "Would you prefer a lie or the truth?"

Christine backed away and covered her mouth with her hands. Her brows curved upward in distress and I saw her using her new lungs efficiently, as she began to breathe erratically. Her head turned to the side and in the gown she wore, she seemed to be buried in an ocean of silk.

I walked over to her and held her then. Looking down at her, she who was a foot shorter than myself, I tilted her chin up. Her blues looked into mine and I could see that she was confused, frightened, angry, and of course, enamored that I would go to such lengths for her.

"Why did you bring me back?"

"Because for one, I told your mother that I would not let the consumption kill you. I have followed through with that. But there is another matter entirely."

"Which is?"

"We have to leave. Since you are considered deceased, and if anyone sees you, people will come looking. They'll think you inhuman and will perhaps want to destroy you."

"I can live with the simple-minded folk. And the second reason?"

I swallowed the pain forming in my throat. I could not bring myself to lie to her, now or ever. With one of my hands, I rose hers into the candlelight. A small ring of gold sat firm upon her finger betwixt her small and middle digits. The shadows on her knuckles simplified the sight of it. The dark lashes over her eyes grew heightened and such sighed, her lips shuddering as she exhaled. I cupped the side of her face and spoke my peace then.

"Because I ask you to be mine."

\---

Her fists found my chest in a lash of pain.

"You old bastard! I would like to know what you are going to tell my mother!"

I gripped her wrists and hushed her, calming her; I pulled her against my breast but she was inevitably stronger now. She managed to rip herself away from me and pin me down on the examination table behind me; for someone of such small height, her newfound life had given her a man's strength.

"Christine, it's not that simple. If we remain here, they'll come looking for you. I will write to your mother. I will tell her that I have been called away urgently and that I had to take you with me as a result of the abrupt leaving. Don't you understand that I have no desire to subject you to yet a second death? These people are still superstitious fools. I have no doubt they would try to burn you with scourges and flames if they truly tried."

She backed away and shook her head. She was almost in hysterics. New tears formed in the pale blue of her eye, and she wrapped her arms around herself. "Oh, and I suppose you planned on making me your own vision of the companion to Shelley's monster. Why couldn't you have just left me there on your table as I was? There was a reason why I did it in the first place!"

Before I could say anything else, she picked up the front of her gown and made her way up the flight of stairs. I believed, that in her own way, she was saying to me without yet the formation of words as to how she hated me for returning her. And deep down, I could not blame her.

\---

Hours passed and a storm had come over the mansion. The currents of dark had swept across the county and rain fell hard, pouring and pounding against the glass in fell sheets. Lightning flashed across the skies in purple streaks. Deeply, darkly, I wondered if she had been correct in assuming I'd been selfish in bringing her back. As I lay there in my bed, my back against the pillow and headboard, I began reading a passage from a collection of poets and their works. Over and over again, there were a few lines from Percy Bysshe Shelley that caught my attention.

**_"Death is the veil which those who live call life; They sleep, and it is lifted."_ **

Those words became embedded in my mind, same as their meaning. I was feeling utterly philosophical in the moment, and as thunder roared, shaking the foundations of my home, I heard the most tender of knocks upon the wooden door to my room. I looked up once from my circular spectacles.

"Enter."

The door creaked open and she walked inside. Her stitching seemed to be healing well, and as she came inside, she shut the door behind her and lingered against its frame. Her brows were turned upright in sadness. The willowy flow of her nightgown made her seem a ghost, ethereal in view, and she made her way over to my bedside. She seemed alone. She seemed desperately in need of companionship, but then again, I was a monster to her, was I not?

"I wanted to—"

I shut my book and rose a hand. "No apologies or penance needed, Christine. I can begin to understand your frustrations with me. You are right. I was being selfish by bringing you back and I should have left you in peace."

Her lips softened. In her cautious way, she crawled among my bed and made her way to place both legs on either side of my hips. I grew confused and inwardly, my mind jolted with thousands of sensations, of emotions I could not register at the same time. "Christine?"

Her hand removed my spectacles, and at the same time, she leaned forward. A single kiss from her lips was what I received. To my enamored nature, these lips were the softest I had ever tasted, had ever felt. The warmth of her breast found mine and I could not begin to comprehend what had come over either of us.

Her arms wrapped around my neck and I held her likewise. Between these eloping moments, she whispered, "I am going to help you with your work. If there is indeed a void or a dimension after this, I will do whatever it takes to see to it that the answer of life after death is found. I promise."

I hadn't expected her to say such a thing, but it mattered not in the moment. I clasped my Christine to my breast and covered her with the other blanket. She rest her head on my shoulder, burying her face into my folded throat. In a few minutes, she fell asleep and I watched over her, thinking of what else could possibly unfold.


	13. Chapter Twelve

We slept against each other, upon each other; we took turns lying on each other's chest throughout the night. Her head lay upon my right breast, with her hair sprawled out and softening my flesh where she lay. The set of new lungs I had given her sounded clear and purposeful. Her breaths were small and child-like all the same, and the sight of her frailty was an aesthetic to its own purpose. But then again, to be beautiful was to be dead. I worried and looked down at her.

Her lips were bloodied. She had bitten them hard, hard enough to the point where one corner was slightly was broken. She shivered violently almost and began to cry in her sleep. Her fingernails were clawing at the pillow, and she turned onto her side, screaming into the cotton. I could see the fear becoming vivid tremors behind her closed eyelids.

"No," she cried. "Please, no. Don't take—"

"Christine! Christine, it's alright. There's nobody here but you and me. Calm yourself, it's quite alright."

I quickly wrapped a long arm around her torso and my lips were at the back of her nape. I had kissed the sweat from her skin and immediately, she took my hand and placed it over her heart, where her breast lay bare. Small crimson fell and stained the pillow, and I worried she would swallow her tongue if she did not stop quivering. I kissed her throat then and she began to ease herself. Her muscles were no longer tense and she stopped thrashing about. I could sense the rapid thumping of her heart slow itself once more.

Christine did not look at me as she spoke with a tremor of fear in her voice. "Please," she said. "Don't do this, please. I'm begging you. Something doesn't feel right."

The vein in her jugular was still throbbing, still pulsing with fear; the small blue sight of it trembled against the pale film of her skin, and I stroked it there, kissing her temple, caressing her. Her blood raced beneath her skin hot and incoherent, as if something were giving chase to make her feel as though she had no choice but to run within her own sleep. I steadied her, and then as she inhaled deeply, she turned onto her side and faced me in her small form.

Christine buried her lips against mine in a desperate lunge, a quickening rhythm. Her fingers entwined themselves in the white of my hair, and she clung to me, as if almost for dear life.

"This machine of yours— I'm fearful for you. I know you mean well and I know your curiosity is most insatiable. I commend you for your bravery to seek out the truth, I do. But at the same time, I am undoubtedly horrified for what lies ahead. I don't want any harm to come to you now or ever."

I licked my lips nervously. I knew she perhaps did not want to hear anything of the oddly nature, but I had to speak of this to her. Slowly, assuredly, I began to explain my distinctive frustration.

"Christine, since the beginning of the war and before I lost my immediate family and colleagues, there's been an urge inside me to discover what happens to us after we die. I've watched these men come from the battlefield and pass, and my curiosity is strong. We discard their bodies or bury them, leave them to become either ash or dust. But what happens to the soul? What happens to us when we've crossed into a different world? I must know. It is killing me inside and I will not rest until I've discovered that secret."

She nodded solemnly and allowed a tear to fall. "Then I will not dissuade you from your course."

My hand cupped the side of her face and I brushed away her tear. "I promise that I won't allow any more harm to come to you. You do not have to help me."

She softly turned me onto my back then and kissed my lips delicately, whilst speaking between kisses. "The hell I don't. You brought me back, breaking the law and every possible moral structure known to mankind. We've crossed that point of no return and so, I will do everything and anything to help you. I owe this new life to you and I will help to see that your work is completed."

I cradled her against me. Every ounce of blood in my own body became ecstatic, perhaps darkly enthralled, that she would help me in this endeavor. Of course, I cautioned the possibility that there was something ominous at work with the machine's destination. If this were to succeed, were to make a pathway to a new dimension, what could be said of the new world that lay on the other side? I did not know for sure, so I would have to brave all the unknown to finish my life's work.

\---

Christine accompanied me and together, we began to work erratically on the machine. In the candlelight, where the lamps were failing, we ushered ourselves to attune the wiring and complete the other switch of the gears. She was quite strong now after the transplant, and she seemed effortlessly able to lift heavy bits of machinery. Her bodily structure seemed fuller. Her shoulders had become more broadly-shaped, and she was able to lift a large wheel overhead as if it weighed nothing.

"Christine, can you pass me that piece of copper?"

She had placed the wheel upon its peg and then passed me the long piece of metal. It gleamed and shined, whereas it seemed faded the moment I placed it in between the slots of silver. The ions would work twice as hard, and the temperatures were maintained steadily. I stood upright and took a few steps back, to observe the machine's form as it was. The two domed spheres sat upon their pillars each, and coils in the shape of screws sat firm and around the long, thick poles, each that were perhaps four feet high. It was finally completed, save for one last part.

"It looks intriguing nonetheless," she said, "but how can you be sure it will work?"

I looked to her in her small stature, and she held my hand then; the temperature of her palm was neither warm nor cold, but just plainly there. She seemed fearful and hopeful at the same time. While her heart gave way to worry, her eyes betrayed her and thus, a spring of light came from those rejuvenated and reborn irises. I sighed deeply as my shoulders rose. My head shook slightly and I blinked in wonder.

"I cannot be certain. But after I've returned from town again, I'll add the final piece and test it."

Christine's head jerked upward very quickly. "Test it? How? _By walking between those pillars yourself?_ "

She tore herself away from me. The look she had upon her face was one of alarm, and I could see she was terrified at what could possibly happen. As a momentarily lapse of strength in her knees, she caught herself against my mahogany desk and collapsed into the chair. She was not ill from lack of sustenance, but from the possibilities that wound through both our minds.

The sight of the bookcases were a vast difference compared to the softness of her flesh now. She seemed adjacent to the book bindings and their colors of brown, dark yellow, orange— the fleshy colors of the earth themselves. She rose a hand then to her chest, scratching at where I had stitched her together. Angry red lines showed. I moved to her then and bid her stop with one catch of my hand upon hers.

"Let me remove the threads," I told her.

She nodded once and pulled the décolleté down to expose the flesh there. I reached for my scissors and a clean cloth. I snipped the knot from the left side, and slowly, began to pull them out from her glowing skin. To my surprise, her skin had healed magnificently. There barely seemed any kind of trauma, and for that, I was grateful. However, I accidentally pulled too hard on one string, and she winced. First, simple red blood came from the small opening, then a yellowish-colored liquid oozed. Christine's blue eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open.

\---

"What did you do to me? What did— where did my blood go? _Did you embalm me too?_ Is that why I feel so drained?"

She pushed herself back away from me in the chair, and she left it, then leaning against the massive bookcase behind her. "How could you?"

I rose a hand in protest, and with the sadness breaking in my voice, I explained. "The girl I had carried back here did not match your blood type. If I had put her blood in your veins, your body would not have accepted it. There is a critical need for one's body to match the blood. Please Christine, I was only trying to save you. You cannot mark me for every transgression when I did it out of compassion for you!"

Her brows turned upright. "Compassion? Or lust?"

"Don't. I would never—"

"Why else would you have brought me back? It wasn't just for the sake of my mother, who hasn't received a single word from you, mind you. Every letter you've tried to write to her is lying on your desk."

"Christine, stop making this so difficult! I would never have brought you back from lust. I am not like that. If anything, I brought you back because I pitied your mother and also... also because I grew affectionate for you. That is why. I couldn't bear to see you suffer after all the good you've done for others and for me, and I... I don't want to be alone."

"You want a companion?"

"A scientific one for sure, and one who is comely, strong, intelligent; you possess qualities that other women these days do not, and that is admirable, fierce. I will continue to do what I can for you, I promise."

She approached me then and cupped my face. Her thumbs brushed against the stalk-thin curves of my cheekbones, and as she held me, her face touched mine. Her arms kept me in her embrace, and I began breathe into her.

"We will go into town tomorrow. Together," she added. "There's a time for change and I'm going to be by your side no matter what. If they inquire anything, I'll tell them to shove off. We have work to finish. We cannot stop now. Not that we're so close."

She backed away and began to lead me up the stairs again. She held my hand and together, we walked side by side. "Let's go to bed, beloved. Let me warm those old bones."


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.” 
> 
> ― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
> 
> 🖤
> 
> I have this chapter split into both points of view of Jebediah and Christine. Also, the face claim for Aaron is Harry Lloyd.
> 
> Of course, Christine becomes more empowered with strength in this chapter; she also becomes more protective of her "creator," and as the young man from her "previous" life comes around the grounds of Morningside, things are set in motion and cannot be stopped. She also has a mind of her own now and is not afraid of the consequences. 
> 
> Thank you so much all for the kudos and comments. I look forward to giving this fanfiction a haunting hurrah!
> 
> PS: Kate, I received the books of "Phantasm Exhumed" and "Further Exhumed", both by Dustin McNeill in the mail last night. They have so many wondrous photos never-before-seen, and most of them are of our beloved Tall Man! He's such a handsome, sweet old man in those books, and the commentaries are amazing to read. I highly recommend them! You'll like them a lot!

Her pelvis gently sat upon mine. Her legs were on either side of my hips again, and I could feel her revived heat. Her weightless, dark curls sat against the lower base of my abdomen. Her folds were wet, glistening; the heat that arose from her flesh was giving way to my own body. By rights, I should not have even been holding her, touching her as I was, but she was here. She was upon me, with me.

I cradled her and she buried her face in the side of my throat. Her breath elicited an arousal out of me, and even for one of my own age, I felt the nerves throughout my body become alive, electrified. She looked back at me then and she pressed her forehead against mine. Her lips found mine and I could feel how her breath lingered on my tongue, on every inch of skin I had.

"Christine..."

She paused then and pulled her hair to lie over her shoulder. It hid one of her breasts but then she clasped her hands to her chest. Gingerly, her eyes looked into mine and her fingers twisted the golden band upon her hand. I steadied her as she lay her head upon my shoulder then. Each slow, timid motion of her eyes seemed innocent. I wrapped the blanket around her hips then and kept her against me.

"What is it?" I inquired.

She barely spoke loud, but I had heard her nonetheless.

"I don't know what to do now," she said, her voice breaking. "Before the war, I was engaged. He had been drafted into the 57th regiment for Pennsylvania, and when I received word that he had been killed on the field, my heart was not broken. I had my whole life planned for me by my mother, and now that I have died and come back, I know things will not be the same. I can't go back to my family. I have no one."

The tone of her voice signaled defeat. Her head lowered in a slow mannerism, and tears fell each from her eyes. I saw goose-flesh fall over her body. She had seen so much, from both war and death. She had overcome so much and how could I not admire her, commend her? I pitied her. If her mother had found out the madness that I had gone through in order to bring her daughter back, if she even had remotely found out that Christine had truly died― there would be nothing to keep me from hanging. The noose would find my throat inevitably and perhaps, purposefully. The lynching mob would make sure of it.

As I thought of her being abandoned, the slightest sound of a scrape, of a thud suddenly came outside the bedroom window. It sounded like the shuffling of a ladder, and I immediately turned Christine to face away from the window.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I don't know."

Instinctively, my arms lashed out to hold her near. I was becoming dominant in my protective nature, and as I kept her against me, the closer and louder the shuffling became. Before I could say another word, the glass of the window was shattered. It fell in broken shards to the floor, and all I could see was a pair of bloodied hands clinging to the windowsill. The hands turned into arms, which produced then the sight of a head and shoulders. Brown hair, blue eyes— those were the features of the young man who had helped Christine before.

He was about to say a few choice words, but Christine looked from the dark of her hair towards his direction. He saw the stitches through the strands of her hair, and as I clutched her to my chest, the broken glass had cut his palms terribly, and he had no choice but to let go. The sound of agony erupted from his throat. Blood welled from the slits in his palms, and it pooled upon the white paint. I heard him fall without pause or stop. His body hit the ground feet first, and I knew he had broken something, for I heard an awful outcry.

I bid Christine to move from my lap so I could go to the window. Rushing, observing, I saw that the young man was now crawling back towards his horse. He had broken his leg, perhaps even fractured it to the point where bone was exposed. He took the reins and began to climb upon the animal.

"Count your hours," he shouted loudly. "I'll see to it that you hang, Morningside!"

He rode off then into the dark and faded, the tail of the horse looming in the moonlight. I felt my bowels grow hard and my heart sunk, deeply, lonesomely; the emotions that ran through my body now were horrifying to say the least. I had wronged her. I had endangered her. In a lapse of judgment, I turned to apologize. However, the room was emptied. Christine was no longer there. The door was wide open and I was in the room all alone.

\---

-Christine's POV-

I threw on my nightdress and took flight down the stairs. The red barn behind the house was still untouched, the chains upon its doors still locked. I took the key and immediately ran to the lock. It fell down to the ground and I thrust the doors open. There was a white mare standing there in her stall, and I cared not for the saddle. I mounted her quickly and rushed her out of the barn.

For the better part of fifteen minutes' time, I chased after Aaron. He had taken the secluded path that went down from the brook towards the dark hills. The path curved into the dark and its crevices were attuned with bushes, tall trees. The horses were not so far away now, and as we came around the corner, I bid him stop. He looked over his shoulder, and pulled the reins hard, making his horse stop. He dismounted, and I did as well.

I walked up to him and put both my hands on his forearms. "Aaron, please don't go to my mother. I'm begging you!"

He took one hand and then suddenly, thrust it against the side of my jaw. He pinned me to the ground then and put one knee on my abdomen. Both of his hands caught mine, and I thrashed about with him.

"I saw you with him, Christine! _You were naked_. You didn't have anything on your body and you allowed him to touch you as if you both were wed. Are you a respectable young woman, or a whore? Did he touch you with his phallus? Hmm? Did you let that _disgusting_ old man touch you? I didn't know that your mother had raised a whore."

I shook my head violently. " _Goddamn you!_ He's not what you think! How dare you talk about him like that. He has more of a mind than you ever will, and you know it! Now get off me!"

The horses were growing restless, and they started to kick at the dirt, their hooves digging and trotting in place. They rushed off then and as Aaron looked at his horse, calling out for it, I had the audacity then to knee him in the groin. My knee brushed against his shaft and bruised it immediately, I could tell. He fell onto the ground beside me and as I sat up, I caught my breath.

He hurriedly lunged for my arm then. He caught it with his hand and he grabbed me hard, bruising my skin quickly. His fingernails dug into my skin and I gasped from pain. The front of my nightdress was sinking lowly, and my stitches were exposed now; though the strings were gone, the scars were still there, were still pink. Aaron caught my neck and craned me in to bend against him.

"He performed surgery on you? For what? Tell me! My God, Christine, did you let that crazy old bastard experiment on you?"

I had finally had enough. The anger, the adrenaline― it was all coming to a boil beneath my skin. I had found new strength, the likes of which I had never used or felt before. My hands found Aaron's neck within an instant. He started to choke violently, and for one of my small stature, I overcame him as a strong, brute man would. The veins in his neck bulged and his eyes began to widen. His skin was turning blue, then a lighter shade of purple. I had finally had enough with him ridiculing me, controlling me, and for the first time, I decided to take control.

One swift twist of my wrist, and his neck broke. The spine snapped efficiently and profound, and as I stood upright, I dropped him to the ground. He lay there still now, softened but soon to be hardened. The sound of crickets chirped in the darkness, and as I looked around, I felt that same presence from before coming to me, speaking to me.

" _Such a good girl, Christine― you've become such an earnest murderess. You have come so far. Go back home. Go back to your doctor and assist him one last time. We are prepared, girl. It's time to come home to me_."

I looked around me and saw nothing there. Nothing remained but me and the corpse that was Aaron. The crickets still sang and as I stepped away, my eyes ran wet with tears. Not because that I had just killed a man with my bare hands, but because that voice was still there. I wanted to take no chances. I wanted my doctor, my creator, my love. Lifting the front of my nightdress only slightly, I began to run to the only place where I was safe and loved. I was running back to Morningside, where I truly belonged whether I be living or dead.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, Christine knocking off Aaron was totally called for. I mean, honestly― would you take s**t from a guy like that? I wouldn't, especially if they were physically assaulting me. So, yes, that's why Aaron is now gone. That and I hate love triangles. They're so droll and boring to write. A little spice is always appreciated when one beloved protects the other, no matter what the circumstance.
> 
> Anyway, this fanfiction will soon be at an end. Perhaps one more chapter, and upon the success and reception of this story, I may write a sequel as mentioned before! If anything, it'll be interesting; I'll definitely have Mike and Reggie tagging along should the sequel be a go!
> 
> Still, thank you all for leaving me kind words and kudos. Christine, Dr. Morningside and I appreciate it immensely! 🖤
> 
> PS: I'm having Jebediah be the age of 72 in this fanfiction, since that was the age Angus was when "Oblivion" came out; I, however, was only one year, four months and twenty-seven days old! Sadly, I was only nineteen years, four months twenty-seven days old when "Ravager" came out, which was also the year our sweet and demonically-haunting Tall Man passed away.
> 
> And yes, let me remind you that Christine is only 22 years old in this fanfiction. Let it be known that both are of-age, consenting adults. Please don't crucify me for it! So technically speaking, I've based Jebediah's birth year to be 1793. Christine was born in 1843. It's a fifty-year age difference, but hey, stranger things have happened!
> 
> PPS: Would anyone like to see my artwork of my titular couple? Or perhaps some solo portraits? Let me know if you'd like to see them! I love sharing my visions and art with people!

A storm had overcome the county again, and as I sat upon the porch, drapped in my coat, I waited for her. The hours passed and my own lungs were heaving heavily, with worry, with pain. I was sitting in my rocking chair, moving back and forth nervously. My knuckles flashed white as the lightning above rendered its shades purple. I waited like that for two hours.

When Christine came back, her dress was torn. The front of it was ripped, the lace mere lashes, and I worried then as to what had happened. I took flight down the front porch steps and assuredly ran towards her. Her white fabric was stained brown from soil, with small leaves scattered in the waves of her long and wild dark hair. I saw the dark rings around her throat and grimaced. My own heart felt unusually frightened by what I saw. I had seen bodies, limbs, organs, all discarded and burned, but nothing worried me so much as the injuries she had.

Her dress was now soaked and it clung to her body like a mortuary sheet. I had never wrapped my arms around someone so desperately before, that my arms shook with fear; undoubtedly, it was the fear that I'd lose her— again and forever. Her little body collapsed against my tall frame without falter. I rushed her into my arms and carried her then bridal-style up the stairs and back into the house.

\---

"Christine, tell me everything. What happened?"

Her collarbone urged upward as she tensed. "I can't say."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll think me mad."

I clasped her hand in mine. I cleared my throat and shuddered only once more upon seeing the purple of her bruise; clearly it was not self-inflicted, but still, I wondered. It was not an attempt of suicide, but the scenarios of two distinctive scenes came through my mind. Was she almost hanged, or did that young bastard wrap his fingers around my beloved's throat? I grew so angry at the thoughts, that my fingernails dug into the fabric of my trousers. My knuckles gleamed white and I scowled fiercely.

"Did he do something to you? Did he bruise you?" I asked. "He didn't...?"

My voice was grave, but she knew I'd never mean her harm. Christine began to tear and as she turned onto her side, she pulled me down to lie beside her once more. Her hair softened my headrest, and as I curled against her, her buttocks softly shaped themselves against my groin. Her hand took mine again and she made me cup her now-swollen breast.

"Christine?"

"He called me a whore. _Your_ whore to be exact. Every inch of me froze in that moment but then he choked me. He said my mother had raised a whore. But I am not— I swear I'm not. No one has ever claimed me, entered me, and I won't let anyone but my love touch me. But as he kept choking me, my rage took over. I had grown so angry, so disgusted with his antics, that I finally put an end to it."

 _My God_ , I thought. _He must have toyed with her to the point where she could no longer stand the physical pain of his actions. Did she use her newfound strength, her resurrected form to procure the death of this simple boy?_ I did not know, but I had to ask her.

"Did you kill him?"

In a haunted tone, she whispered against my lips the words I had used before. "Would you prefer a lie or the truth?"

Phlegm grew moist within the back of my throat, and as I replied, I barely sounded grown. There was a tremor or two in my vocal pronunciation, and she heard it clearly. "My God, Christine. This is madness."

"So says the man who defiled a corpse, stole her lungs and carved them out, and placed them into the chest of a young girl he loves. Not as mad as it seems when both souls are at fault, is it?"

I didn't know what to say to her, and as the clock struck four in the morning, she and I both fell asleep from stress, from exhaustion. I covered us with the thickest blanket and held her. Her lips found mine and we began to both fall into a deep, tremulous sleep.

\---

Four long hours had passed. Hues of red entered through the opened window. I had boarded it up as best as I could, but the sight of the young man's blood was still there among the jagged edges of broken glass. Christine lay in the bed completely calm and collected. I slowly removed myself from the bed and covered her. Her arm went to wrap itself around a pillow and I escaped her hold. I went into the master bath and began to dress. Within the half hour, I was clothed. I walked downstairs and went into my laboratory, where I caught a pen and paper.

In my elegant writing, I began to leave words upon the paper. It would be a note for her and her alone:

" _Christine, I have taken the carriage into town. I shall be back mid-day with the final piece for the machine. I would have adored to take you with me for accompaniment, but with your turmoil with that youth, I will not risk seeing you hang if you are discovered. Under no circumstances are you to operate the machine without me present. So much depends upon us, our intellect. We must remain calm and prepared if we are to enter another dimension. Take your rest and recover. I will be back for you. Ever faithful, Jebediah_."

I wanted to leave with her and go to a different town, to take the machine with us and continue our work where no one we knew could accuse us of immoral mathematics and cunning. But we were still here no matter what. It was here where I had lived for all my seventy-two years thus far, and it had been where I first met her. I could not rip her away. I could not make her suffer anymore. No, not if I loved her. The science and all its experiments remained prudent, but she remained titanic in it all.

I sealed the small note in a creme-colored envelope and left it on the table in the dining room. It had her name upon the face of it, and when she'd awake and come searching, I took heart in knowing she would hopefully oblige my request to wait for me.

And so, I ventured outside in the early morning sunrise towards the red barn where the horses were kept. I opened the door and made my way into one of the stalls, whereas I led the large black Percheron towards the front of the carriage. I attached him rather carefully, and was always mindful that he was a living creature.

Once he was outfitted, I took the reins and boarded the seat. I clicked my tongue and lightly whipped them, and calmly, the horse began to led me down the drive. I looked over my shoulder once and prayed that she would not awaken, only to go into the laboratory alone without me. She had no idea what was about to happen, and nor did I, but at least I wanted to be there with her should the worst occur.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, here be the ending chapter of "Original Sin." 
> 
> Depending on how much of a response I get from this, I'll write a sequel. This final chapter is told through both Jebediah and Christine, and once more, we all thank you immensely for reading this! Kudos and comments are appreciated!
> 
> Still, let me know what you thought of this story! Love to all, Michaela. XoXo
> 
> PS: Here's the link to my first published drawing of Jebediah and Christine! Please let me know if you like it! [Click here to see the beloved darlings 🖤](https://www.deviantart.com/endlesseternities/art/Lingering-Kiss-787125331?ga_submit_new=10%3A1551059522)

I hadn't cried so hard before in all my life. It wasn't my mother I was missing, nor the fact that I had stained my hands with the blood of a family friend's son, but it was for the very reason that I missed him— my creator, my acquaintance, my beloved. I sat in the chair at his desk and buried my face in my arms as I lay perched upon the smooth surface. His hundreds of notes were sitting there in a complete pile, and as I sat within his chair, I curled my knees to my chest and took a few sheets and I began to read them. Word for word, I read them in his elegant hand:

" _25th September, 1862— Failure in the gears tonight. I tried to correct their ratio to the proper alignment but was unsuccessful due to lack of supply. Stayed awake most of the next night fixing the machine, and still, no results positive._

 _30th June, 1863— Continuing the process of the machine has been taxing, but I am discovering that as I delve deeper into the unknown, the energy that is providing electricity to the brass spheres is a powerful conductor. The machine is almost complete, and I need one final piece_."

What piece? What could he possibly need to finish it? Thoughts upon thoughts ran through my mind and a migraine formed indefinitely. There were shadows floating across my eyes and as I leaned my head to rest against the back of the chair, my hair fell behind in long, flowing tresses.

I closed my eyes again and gripped my hands together roughly, so hard that my knuckles turned white. My lips were shaking in the moment, and as I reached for another sheet of his notes, something black appeared in the corner of my eye towards the right of the room.

It stood behind the counter of tubes, vials, the many racks that held all other scientific equipment. It was shifting continuously, almost obsessively. I lowered my feet to the floor and stood upright. I felt as though I was in a trance. The feeling of cold overcame my body with every step I took. The gold cross around my throat sat heavy against my breast, and all I could feel was the beating of my heart, the same heart he kept inside my chest for his sake and mine.

" _Christine_..."

It was the voice from before. It was growing louder, less distorted the closer I got to it. Out of mere compulsion, I walked up to the side of the counter. The candles were burning still, and the oil lamps glowed bright enough to uncover the shadow's form. It was slowly taking form of a man, a tall man— its height was over six feet tall, lanking, gaunt. It contorted then into a half-shaped apparition almost, and I stopped where I stood.

"What are you?"

" _I've been waiting for you. It matters not what I am, but for the mere truth that tonight his machine will be completed. The game will be won soon and you, my girl, will be the queen to acclaim checkmate. Wait for him. Stay here in his laboratory. Your mortician will be back soon_."

I shook my head. "Are you the one that has been touching me? Prowling me in all your formless, spineless essence?"

The unseen force dared to speak back to me then, though not in an angered tone. It was calm, nonchalant. There was nothing but cunning soaking in its distorted echo. " _You already know me. You've tasted these lips, held this body. You will understand once the process is complete. Until then, be an obedient beloved_."

I was about to object, to tell this thing what I truly thought of it until I heard shuffling upstairs. I heard the footsteps echoing in the den, with a voice muffled by the flooring. It was his voice, and immediately, I ran towards the stairs. My crinoline floated almost weightlessly around me and I spared no expense in racing up the stairs to him. My hands were hurting as to how hard I was balling them into fists, but I didn't care. It was driving me to the point of madness, not knowing what this thing had meant. Tasted these lips, held this body? What the hell had it all meant?

I didn't know, but the moment I entered the den, I saw him standing there with a box in hand. He placed it down as he saw me in distress, and immediately, we both raced to each other. My arms held his stalk-thin torso and I buried my face at the hollow of his collarbone.

\---

"Did you read my note?"

I nodded solemnly and kept a hold on him as we went into the laboratory. "Yes. Why were you gone so long though? It wasn't even mid-day and now, it's night. What were you doing all this time?"

He released me and held my head against his breast. "After town, I cleaned up the corpse left behind. It was my official duty to the town, and after that chaos, I went to your mother."

My heart fell inside my chest. God, I thought. Tell me you haven't told her anything. Not about us, the machine, Aaron, anything. Looking up at his tired old eyes, mine found the audacity for worry. My little hand found his and I brushed my thumb atop his old veins.

"What did you tell her?"

Jebediah let me go and took my left hand into his, whereas he straightened the gold band to sit firm upon my finger. For a moment, he didn't speak. No words, nothing. He just grimaced and allowed his dark brows to turn upright. He cleared his throat then and sighed.

"I told her you died. It was the only way to keep you safe. The moment I told Isabelle what had caused your death, she expelled me from the house. She blames me for your death and I do not give her one doubt of it. I hadn't been there for you in time and now, look what has happened."

I shook my head. My mother had always been a controlling woman, a naive soul with nothing but disdain for everything and anything. I could tell she had caused him mental wounds, and for that, I hated her. I loathed her to the point where I disassociated myself with her and her blood.

"To hell with her. She has been so controlling of me all my life, and even now in my adulthood, I am free. You liberated me and stitched my pieces back together, quite literally. I am nothing to her. I'm not the son she wanted. You are the one I owe, and to you, I give my assurances of being both assistant and wife. I promised to help you finish this machine and I will. You don't have to endure anything alone anymore. Just be truthful with me and I will live and die at your side, I swear it."

The moment I told him this, I reached for the nearby foot stool and stepped up. We were both at equal eye level now, and I could see his reactions more clearly. The wrinkles and creases upon his face were marble-smooth, as his alabaster skin was perfected with wisdom, with age. The sight of the equipment made him seem the modern Prometheus, its creator, and child altogether.

He seemed hesitant then and tried to recoil. "Christine..."

"What? You seem unsure. What is wrong?"

"The machine— I'd rather go myself rather than see you walk between the gate. I don't know what will happen truthfully, and so, rather than see any harm come to you, I'd rather test it myself."

My thin brow rose over my blue eye. "Are you mad? Haven't you heard the coined term of 'ladies first,' my love?"

He was about to object when I put a finger to his lips. "Hush," I softly said, kissing him. "Now, where's the final piece? I'll help you tune it and then, we can properly test it. Together."

\---

We both opened the box together and as he placed the lid upon the tabletop, we removed the supplies from inside. He had brought home more copper wire, some nails, screws, a new hammer, brass fittings for the switches and last but not least, a tuning fork. He had told me this would be the last fitting of the machine tonight, for at least he and I would see if there was a threshold indeed beyond life. But I could save him the trouble. I could tell him what dying was like.

It was an astral plane as those from the battlefield had described. It was white, it was empty. Nothing there but yourself in your lapsed form. There were no sounds, no other souls but a desolate white blaring all around you. I had hated it and wished for darkness the moment I had seen it. My eyes, let alone my heart, my soul, could barely handle such emptiness. Inside, I had secretly thanked whatever it was inside him that compelled his intellect to bring me back.

Even now, he took the tools in hand and walked over to the side of the machine. I followed as he perched beside it and opened the hatch. He took the copper wiring out and placed it inside, wrapping it around the coils that would be electrified soon. His fingers were tedious and careful all the same, and as he screwed the panel shut once more, he stood upright and looked around.

"Where did I put that—"

Immediately, I passed it to him. He took it with one nod of thanks.

"The final piece needed for completion?"

He nodded again. "Yes, Christine. I would appreciate it if you stood back. I don't know what kind of current may be going through here and I don't want you to be electrocuted. Please?"

I obliged and stepped away. My hands were clasped against my chest, over my heart and I couldn't bear the thought of him getting hurt. I closed my eyes as I heard him place the metal against its bearings. The sound of whirring echoed then, and I knew then that the currents hadn't harmed him. My eyes opened once more and I saw him standing at the panel with his hand upon the main switch. My throat tensed. Pain ensued and I could feel myself dreading it.

As I swallowed the pain down into my esophagus, my eyes went wide as I saw him push the switch up. The small sparks shot out from the gears and the wheels started to move in equal rotation. As clear as day, the humming from the gate entered my ears. The energy which neither was created or destroyed, shifted into the rest of the machine and powered it fully.

He stepped away and looked in awe at what he had created. He clapped his hand over his mouth and looked everything over. It was finished. The machine was operating, and now, the final test needed to be completed. The final experiment itself of venturing, of finding out whether or not there was another world, a realm, or dimension that we go to when we die.

Jebediah walked over towards me then and we both stood in front of the gate. The pillars kept humming and with a strange resonance, it felt as though we were being beckoned, called to by this non-living thing. My hand touched his and I rose it to my lips. I kissed his knuckles and smiled, though tears fell from my eyes and I shied into his chest, just for one last time.

"I am enthralled for you, my love, but now, it is my turn to take a chance for us."

He stilled and his mouth dropped open slightly. "What? What— no, you can't mean that."

"You already brought me back once and I am grateful to you, truly. You've shown me a world of science that women are foreign to, are forbidden to learn, and you've given me the ability to be openly mindful of everything. I will be doing this whether you agree with it or not. Like you, I must know. I am not afraid and so, arguing with me will not get you anywhere. Please," I said, kissing him in between words, "I beg you to let me do this."

Nervously, he choked. "What if you don't come back?"

"Then I will be waiting for you. I'll wait for you to come home to me. If I am able to come back, I will tell you what I've seen and together, we can achieve a new step for humanity. Please, do not fear. I will be seeing you again no matter what."

"Christine..."

I let go of his hand and faced the gates fully. I exhaled and let go of all resentments. There would be nothing to hold me back from this now, as this was the point of no return. My hand held the golden cross around my neck and just as I went toward the gate, he stopped me one last time. I looked up at him and his lips descended upon mine. This kiss, all alone in this instance, was the most passionate and most lonesome one we shared. His lips were wet, and I deduced then that he had shed a tear or two. We inhaled each other's breath and there was nothing left to fear.

"You best honor your promise to me, Christine. Whether you come back or not, wait for me. I'll come to you in the end. Don't do anything without me. That would be cruel considering how we've come so far. I shouldn't even let you be going at all, let alone by yourself, but who am I to deny what you want? Just... please don't go where I can't follow. Don't venture into any other part without me. Promise me."

"I promise."

He released me then and I took a few more steps closer. The humming was louder now and the vibrations were cold, then warm, as their temperatures were fluctuating wildly, vividly. My dress hung behind me like a funerary veil, and once more, I looked over my shoulder to see him in pain. In pain, but with hope. As my own tears fell, I offered him one last sentence.

" _I love you_."

Though he hesitated to speak in his groveling octave, I saw his mouth whisper the words in return. " _As I love you._ "

\---

-Jebediah's POV-

Watching her leave was one of the hardest things to witness. It was far worse than the young gentlemen, the older men dying, but to me, her leaving was astoundingly horrific. I watched as her train carried behind her. She held her hands outward, and she took slow steps. The sound of her heels clicking among the wooden floor left an imprint in my ears.

Christine's dark chocolate-brown hair fell behind her and I no longer saw her face. She approached the gate then and fully, walked through. Her form dissipated and completely vanished. Her body, her dress— her whole form had vanished entirely. Her mortal coil shifted into the reverberation of the machine, and instinctively, I knew she was gone.

My eyes went wide and I ran towards the gate out of impulse. I was about to follow behind, but of course, the machine went awry. The sparks grew brighter and larger, and as they flashed compulsively, the mechanisms inside the panel whirred and went ballistic. It reminded me of cannon fire then, and how I grew panicked. The screams of both Confederate and Union soldiers echoed through my mind.

I clapped my hands to my ears to keep the sounds away. My knees buckled and I fell to the floor. I hunched over and let loose an awful scream of pain, of hurt, of loneliness. The more the memories of the war overcame, the more the machine sparked. I ran towards the panel then, opened it, and brought the knobs inside to a halt. I closed it quickly and pulled the handle down.

The machine turned itself off before I could touch it again. It came to a complete stop and went silent. I breathed in and out, slow and deeply. My own lungs burned and I wondered then what would come of this.

She couldn't come back, this I knew. My girl, my Christine— she was gone and alone without me now. She was trapped there in that dimension without me, and I knew distinctively that I was the only one to blame for it. It would perhaps take me a few more weeks or months to refurnish the machine, and I could only hope that she would persist and remain alive for both our sake. Whether I'd find her again or not remained another matter entirely.

In this torment and dark, only the machine existed here in the foundations of this house. This house, which I knew in all certainty, would have another role to play in the future. Now was the time for me to take a little initiative. Now was the time for me to cross the threshold between life and death, and discover what dimension we passed over to.

 

 


End file.
